


Lost And Found

by GayDemonicDisaster (scrapheapchallenge)



Series: Lost and found [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Amnesia, Angel Wings, Angel/Demon Relationship, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Demon Wings, Flying, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Stripping, Teasing, Wing Grooming, Wings, Wingtimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:41:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 22,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21771634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapheapchallenge/pseuds/GayDemonicDisaster
Summary: When Crowley goes missing, his angel goes to pieces. Thus begins a journey of rediscovery. Unable to destroy the demon with holy water, Hell had tried a different tack. They kidnapped Crowley again and stole his memories, then dumped him to fend for himself. Aziraphale attempts to help him rediscover who he is. Prepare for much angst with a happy ending. **Illustrations very kindly shared by Gingerhaole and Arinich, both beautifully talented artists.**
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Lost and found [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571629
Comments: 184
Kudos: 281





	1. Demon Gone

Aziraphale felt it when it happened. A tearing, gut wrenching agonising pain that stopped him in his tracks, he didn’t know why he knew, but he _knew_. Something had happened to Crowley. Tears sprang unbidden from his eyes and he cast about helplessly as he stood in the street, his mind a maelstrom of confusion. He didn’t know where Crowley was, only that he was in trouble.

He ran then. He was not one to run generally but he _ran_. Back to the bookshop, the nearest phone he knew as he’d never capitulated yet to the mobile phone fad that in his timescale had only just sprung up. Gasping through the door, hands shaking, whole _body_ shaking as he urgently dialled the demon’s number on his old rotary phone, heart hammering in his chest, possibilities whirling through his mind. “I’m sorry, your call cannot be connected, please hang up and try again.”

Sobbing, he redialled. Again, and again, and again. “Crowley, Crowley, please, please, _please_ be okay.”

He knew he wasn’t.

After how many redials he didn’t know, he was running again, out of the door and sprinting down the road toward Crowley’s flat – thankfully not too far from his shop, a twelve minute walk on a good day. He stumbled, jostled humans, not caring, breath ragged in his throat.

The door to the exclusive apartment block was controlled by entry buttons linked to each flat, it didn’t matter, and it opened for the angel regardless, as did Crowley’s front door once he had got there, breath burning in his lungs, heart making a determined attempt to escape his chest. They could control their human corporations to disregard hunger, need for oxygen and so forth, but in times of panic, it was easy to lose control and the base animal instincts could overwhelm their ability to control their bodies.

“Crowely! Crowley where _are_ you?” He ran from room to room in the echoing, empty apartment. Nothing. Nothing out of place, no demon, no signs of a struggle. Whatever had happened, hadn’t happened here. He didn’t know what to do, where else to look. What haunts Crowley may have that he could search first. He hadn’t even noticed if the Bentley was outside. He ran to the window and scanned the street below, nothing. He collapsed at that point, knees refusing to cooperate in the business of supporting his trembling body any longer, he slid down the window, its surface icy cold against his forehead as he gazed out over the city, helpless and not knowing where to start.

He sobbed. Broken, soul-wrenching sobs of loss and grief, he may have screamed, he didn’t recall. What felt like an eternity later, his throat was raw and hoarse. Snot dribbled down his face, his eyes burned form the tears. He didn’t know how he knew, but he knew that something bad had happened to the demon.

He wandered again through the apartment, eyes taking in the sparseness, the austerity of decoration. He found himself in the doorway to the bedroom, gazing at the empty bed. He hesitantly approached it, sat on the edge, and reached for the pillow, drawing it to his face, to smell the lingering scent left there by Crowley, holding it tight, tears once again burning his eyes.

He left.

He garnered a few curious glances as he staggered back to the bookshop in a daze, still clutching the pillow in one tightly fisted hand. When a cycle courier whizzed by a little too close for comfort he drew the pillow closer to him protectively and glared at the confused woman.

“Crowley” he whispered, he didn’t know how many times, finding himself somehow back in the bookshop, on the sofa, cuddling the pillow to his chest, his nose buried in the top of it, inhaling that scent again and again. “Crowley.” He began sobbing again.

He began scouring the streets, walking, walking, ceaselessly, day and night without pause for rest or sustenance – he needed neither. His muscles ached in protest, he ignored them. After three days he had filed a police report for a missing person, then he realised that the Bentley would also be a target to look for. He used his supernatural powers of persuasion to entrance a friendly older police officer to assist him. A call went out across the capital for all units to be on the alert for the distinctive Bentley.

It only took a day for it to be found, parked safely in an underground car park near a shopping centre. Aziraphale stood before it, finding no clues. Crowley had presumably parked it here before going to do something, and never came back to it. He ran his fingers over the paintwork gently, feeling for anything. He felt loss, abandonment, confusion, and realised that it stemmed from the vehicle itself. It knew Crowley had gone, it didn’t know where either, and it felt alone.

A small light flickered on inside, catching the angel’s attention, and through the closed door he heard, quietly, a familiar strain begin on the stereo. Queen’s “Too much love will kill you”. The sad refrain the car’s only method of communication with the angel. He broke down into tears again at that point, head resting on the roof, still at a loss.

He left the car, and continued his patrol of the London streets, face haggard, clothes growing looser on his frame as the weeks passed, blisters ignored on his feet. He’d finally given in and bought a cheap mobile phone purely so he could give the number to the police officer who was so kindly helping him. He had explained that Crowley was an orphan with no family, and that they had been best friends since school, that they were the only friends the other had, that he was the closest thing to family that Crowley had. His angelic persuasion pushing the officer to keep on the case. He forgot to charge it, it didn’t matter – it remained fully charged regardless. Fully charged and silent.

He occasionally returned to the bookshop only to sit and think and hug the pillow close, a small miracle ensuring that the scent would never fade, so he could breathe it in, whispering only the name “Crowley” to himself, over and over again, until the restlessness grew too much to bear and he was out again, walking the streets, searching.


	2. Searching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale tracks down his friend, or what’s left of him.

It was several weeks. He almost screamed at the unfamiliar sensation as the phone rang in his pocket, vibrating against his hip. He panicked, fumbled with the strange little thing. He didn’t answer it in time, it fell silent.

He cursed then, a litany of obscenities that had never befouled his lips before in his entire existence, stabbing desperately at buttons, crying in frustration. He felt a comforting hand on his arm.  
“Are you ok, love?”  
A kindly face, a Jamaican lady in her 50s, concern etched into her expression.  
“I… I don’t…. I can’t…. how do you use this thing? I need to call them back – the person who just called, how do I do it? I need to, oh heavens I need to talk to them straight away, please….”

She patted his arm soothingly, and took the phone from his unresisting fingers, tapped a few buttons and passed it back to him. “There you go, love. Want me to stay? Are you ok?” Aziraphale looked lost, he heard the ringtone on the other end, heard a click as it picked up, and shook his head at the friendly woman, whispered “thank you.” And watched as she walked away.  
  


It was the police officer. A man had been found matching Crowley’s description. At a homeless shelter near Uxbridge. He wasn’t very coherent, or cooperative. He’d been drinking heavily. But he hadn’t done anything wrong, the constable had talked to him, told him that someone was worried about him, and been met with confusion. “Don’t know anybody, fuck off, leave me alone.” The constable had no choice but to leave him be. He had informed him that he was a missing person, and that someone wanted to get in touch with him, but being a consenting adult, there was nothing he could do to force Crowley to come with him. He passed the information back to base and left it at that.

Aziraphale flagged down a taxi desperately and headed for Uxbridge.

He began his search again, the homeless shelter closed up for the day, he quartered the streets methodically, checking the shopping centres, the main thoroughfares, and worked outwards from there.

He walked past him at first.

It was the clothing. He’d never seen Crowley dressed in such attire. He was slumped in a doorway, sitting on a sleeping bag, his red hair hidden under a beanie hat, a bright blue waterproof jacket covering his emaciated frame dressed in blue jeans, and a hoodie jumper, everything clearly second hand. Trainers on his feet, dirt under his fingernails, a beard beginning to grow on his face, shades covering his eyes – not his usual ones but knock-off Ray-ban style ones. Three cans remained out of a six pack of cheap supermarket own-brand lager at his side. The fourth clutched in his hand.

Aziraphale dropped to his knees on the wet street, sobbing, reaching out to the demon. “Crowley, oh my dear boy I’ve found you, I’ve found you, oh…” Crowley recoiled, a hiss escaping his lips. “Who the fuck are you? Fuck off, get off me!” Aziraphale’s eyes opened wide in shock, his jaw hanging loose. “Crowley, it’s _me_ , Aziraphale…”  
“Who’s ‘Crowley?’” The man had his lips curled in a snarl.  
“You are, dearest.”  
“I’m Tony, dunno who the fuck you are, but unless you’ve got some spare change you can fuck off and leave me alone.”  
“Oh dearest, what did they do to you?”  
“Who?”  
Aziraphale faltered.  
“They hurt you. They made you forget didn’t they?”  
Tony growled. “Go fuck yourself. I don’t know who the fuck you are but piss off, leave me alone.”

“No.”  
“What?”  
“No, I’m not going to leave you alone. I know you, even if you don’t know yourself. You’re my best friend, I’ve known you almost your whole life, and you’re coming home with me.”  
Tony slithered backwards, pressing his spine into the doorway, his gaze darting around considering escape options.  
“I don’t do that kind of fucking stuff, mate, fuck off. I’m not that desperate for money. I don’t know you. You don’t know me.”  
“I do.”  
Tony glared at him. Aziraphale was familiar with his expressions even when partly hidden behind whatever shades he was wearing that decade.

That was it.

“I know about your eyes. I know what they look like behind those glasses, Crowley.”  
The demon hissed  
“Fuck you.”  
“That snake sigil on your cheek – it’s not a tattoo, it’s part of you. You can feel it moving sometimes. Your eyes are the most beautiful gold I’ve ever seen. Crowley, I _know_ you.”  
Tony staggered to his feet, and gulped down the last of the can in his hand before letting it fall from his fingers. He was shaking.  
Aziraphale unleashed all of his love in one go and reached forward to embrace the demon, who didn’t resist this time. He allowed the arms to encircle him, breathing hard, breath sour, body trembling. The aura of love overwhelmed him utterly. He spoke.  
“Ok.”

“You’ll come home with me?”  
A pause.  
“Ok.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the #GOC2020 Good Omens Celebration Challenge, I used the prompt "Memory" to write a short chapter detailing Crowley's POV of his experience, which finishes at the same point as this chapter did. If you' like to read it, [click here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964013/chapters/58097803)


	3. Finding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale brings his demon home, and sets about finding out what he remembers.

They sat on the bus together, side by side. Aziraphale’s heart ached. The last time they’d done this was coming back from Tadfield. They’d held hands. He didn’t dare do that again, the creature that called himself Tony was too fragile for that, he looked like a delicate glass sculpture that might shatter at the slightest bit of pressure in the wrong place, shatter into a million fractured pieces.

“Do you remember how you came to be here, Tony?” He decided to go with the name that the demon was comfortable with for now. Part of him wanted to call him Crowley as much as possible to try to reinforce it in his mind and try to make him remember, but for the moment, Tony would do.

“No.”  
“What’s the last thing you remember?”  
Tony thought, his hands trembled.   
“Was at Uxbridge station.”  
“Anything else?”  
He shook his head.   
“Didn’t have many clothes on. PCSO took me to the homeless place, they kitted me out. I just had some ripped up black jeans, socks, nothing else. I need a drink.”  
Aziraphale hesitantly patted his knee comfortingly. The contact didn’t break the demon. They remained in silence until they arrived back at the bus stop near the bookshop.

The angel studied the demon’s face as they approached the shop, trying to see if any recognition registered at his surroundings, but nothing. He had to be guided to the front door.   
“You live in a bookshop?”  
Aziraphale nodded.   
“You visit me here often. I thought it might be familiar to you. I hoped it would, anyway.”  
Once in, he put the kettle on and brewed up some strong black coffee like he knew the demon took it, then made a sandwich for him. Both were devoured rapidly.

He even sat wrong. Gone was the louche way he generally lounged on the sofa in a tangle of untidy limbs. Tony sat on edge, tense, trying to take up as little space as possible, eyes darting around the shop in suspicion. “So who the fuck am I?”

Aziraphale took a swallow of tea and composed himself.   
“The name you usually present to the world is Anthony J. Crowley”  
“What’s the J stand for?”  
Aziraphale smiled fondly.  
“You told me it’s just a J really. You picked it because you thought that humans should have middle names, or at least initials. Every time I ask you, you tell me something different, it’s a running joke.”  
Tony snorted.   
“What do you mean, ‘humans’?”  
Aziraphale levelled a look at him.   
“We aren’t human – didn’t the eyes give you a hint?”  
Tony shifted uncomfortably.  
“I didn’t know _what_ to think about them, I’ve been trying not to.”  
He scratched distractedly at the serpent sigil on his cheek.   
  
“So what am I? What are you?”  
Aziraphale paused. Was he ready to understand this or would it just make him run thinking the angel was a madman?  
“We’re best friends. We’ve been together for a long time. A very, very long time. We’re… supernatural entities I suppose is one way to put it. We started out the same, then our paths diverged, and now you’re something else, but you’re still something _good_.”  
  


Tony flinched visibly and snarled.   
“’M not _good_.” He hissed with venom.  
Aziraphale smiled with gentle fondness.  
“So you keep telling me, and I’ll keep telling you that you are, until you believe me too, dearest.”  
Tony growled deep in his chest.   
“I need a fucking _drink_.”  
Aziraphale went to the kitchenette and flicked the kettle back on.   
“Not another sodding coffee, haven’t you got anything harder round here?”  
Aziraphale sighed and stepped back out of the kitchenette.   
“I don’t think this is a good time for that, dearest. In fact I think you should sober up.”  
“What? Just like that? What the fuck do you mean?”  
Aziraphale stepped toward him.   
“You can do it if you try, just concentrate. You can will the alcohol out of your body. We both can, if we want.”  
“Look mate, one – you’re fucking nuts, and two – even if I could, I don’t want to.”  
Aziraphale sighed and took his hand, concentrated, and pushed the alcohol out.   
Tony fell back, eyes wide.   
“What the fuck did you just do?”  
“I told you, I purged the alcohol out of your system.”  
Tony began shaking.   
“Well put it _back_ for fucks sake!”  
“No.”

He reached out again, and this time pushed forward a small miracle that would soothe the demon’s ragged nerve endings and help stop the side effects of the sudden cessation of alcohol consumption after what was presumably weeks of incessant drinking. Tony relaxed slightly. “Uh, thanks. That felt good actually. Uh, would it be ok if I clean up a bit, I kind of feel like I’m stinking up your shop at the moment.”  
“Of course, dearest, there’s a bathroom upstairs. I’ll get you some fresh clothing too, some of your own – see if that helps you remember.”


	4. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale sets about trying to remind Crowley who he is.

Whilst the demon showered, and shaved with the borrowed razor, Aziraphale miracled some of his clothing from the wardrobe at the Mayfair apartment and laid it out on the bed. There wasn’t a watch, or the tie, or the boots – it would appear that Crowley only had one of each of those and they had been lost when whatever happened to him had happened, but he summoned another pair of boots that he recalled Crowley having worn in a previous decade, along with one of many spare pairs of his favourite shades this decade, and set them next to the clothes. He spun on his heel as he heard Tony walk through from the bathroom, a towel around his waist, and stepped back in shock.

His lean, angular body was covered in bruises and scars – injuries healing over from a savage beating clearly having taken place several weeks prior.  
“Oh, my dearest, what did they _do_ to you?” Tears welled up in his eyes again.  
Tony looked down at his body and shrugged.  
“Dunno. Guess someone gave me a good going over. Knocked my memories out of me too.” He tried a weak smile. “Chest still hurts, A&E doctor said I had a couple of broken ribs, they’re still not fully healed up yet I think.”

Tears spilled out of Aziraphale’s eyes. “May I, um. May I try something?”  
Tony pulled his head back slightly, wary. “What?”  
“Um, to help with the pain?” He reached out his hand tentatively.  
Tony started at it, unsure, but remained still.  
Aziraphale reached forward and placed his hand on one bare shoulder, closed his eyes and let his power feel for the injuries. He gasped in shared pain as he felt the broken ribs, and what felt like a fractured wrist to boot, obviously overlooked by the doctors – a hairline crack that may not have shown up on x-rays initially. He pushed his power forward and healed the hurts one by one.

Tony’s eyes flew wide in shock.  
“Whoa. How’d you do that?”  
“I can heal people. You can do certain special things as well.”  
“So what are you? What am I? You didn’t actually say.”

Aziraphale considered for a moment. Tony was sober now, maybe he could deal with it.  
“I’ll show you. Brace yourself.”  
He allowed his wings to unfurl slowly. Tony stared, uncomprehending.  
“You can do it too.”  
“We’re _angels_?”  
Aziraphale paused. Oh boy this was going to be awkward.  
“Yes and no.”  
He took a breath, and met the demon’s golden serpentine eyes.  
“I am, you… were.”  
He reached out to Tony’s shoulder again, and tried to push forward the sensation one felt when extending one’s wings. The demon’s body responded, and his glorious black wings shimmered into existence.  
Tony drew a sharp inward breath and staggered slightly at the change in weight on his body, his wings reflexively flapped to steady him in an automatic reaction to regain his balance. The movement brought his primary feathers into his field of vision and his jaw dropped. He looked from Aziraphale’s white wings to his own black ones and back again.  
“Oh.”  
Aziraphale nodded, sympathetic.  
“That explains the eyes as well I suppose. What else can I do?”

“Lots of things, you can do much of what I can do, and an awful lot that I can’t, the demonic stuff.”  
“So I’m _not_ good then. I told you so.”  
“Oh, but Crowley you _are_. You’re probably hell’s worst demon. You… we… We stopped Armageddon. We prevented the end of the world together. We saved it, we saved everyone, and it was _your_ idea. Yours. Not mine. You had to persuade me. You had to persuade an _angel_ that it was a good idea to save the _entire world_. I will _not_ hear you tell me that you are not good.”

Tony sat down heavily on the bed.  
“So why don’t I remember any of it?”  
Aziraphale sat down next to him.  
“Because I suspect that hell stole you away, beat you savagely, and managed to erase your memory of it all. At least I know they haven’t stolen your demonic power however, or I probably wouldn’t have been able to call your wings forth. You can fold them away again now if you like.”  
“How?”  
He placed a gentle hand on Tony’s knee, and folded his own wings away back to the ethereal plane where they existed when not required, allowing the demon to feel the sensation through the link, to feel the muscle memory required for the movement. The demon tipped his head on one side, closed his eyes, concentrated, and copied the sensation. His wings obediently folded and disappeared again. He grinned, then shook them back out into existence on his own, then hid them again.  
“Nice.”

Aziraphale smiled and stood. “I’ll leave you to get dressed. I’ll be downstairs, dearest.” Tony nodded and looked at the clothes on the bed. “Guess I’m a slutty goth then? How do you even get into trousers that tight?” Aziraphale laughed. “I have no idea, my dear boy. I had enough of a struggle trying to do it with dignity in front of a court of demons after… Oh. I, er, had better fill you in on that as well. I have a lot of things to catch you up on. I suppose.”

Tony laughed then. “You tried to wear my trousers? They don’t look like they’d fit you – they barely look like they’d fit _me_.”  
“Well I _was_ you at the time. It’s a little hard to explain, but we swapped bodies. You were wearing mine, I was wearing yours, to fool heaven and hell. They were trying to kill us for stopping Armageddon. Holy water for you, hellfire for me. So we swapped – I wore your body down to hell and took a bath in holy water. I thought it’d scare them off you for a while but somehow that didn’t work, because they stole you again anyway. I suppose because they didn’t think they could kill you they decided to steal your memories instead and let you go to suffer. I’m so sorry dearest.”

Tony looked up at him. “How did you know it wouldn’t kill the body anyway? It’s a demon body isn’t it?” Aziraphale faltered. “We didn’t know, not for absolute certain, but … it was the only chance we had, the only hope, it was that or certain oblivion. We chose the less certain oblivion, it was a gamble, that paid off.”

Tony gazed into the angel’s eyes.  
“You risked your life for me?”  
Aziraphale nodded.  
“And you for me.”  
Tony stared at his hands.  
“I’ve been searching for you for weeks, Crowley. I lost you, I… I didn’t know what do to, you’ve always been in my life. For 6,000 years we’ve been together. I couldn’t go on without you. I couldn’t rest until I found you. We don’t know _anyone_ as well as we know each other. That’s how we were able to do the body swap. I think if any other angel and demon had tried it they’d probably explode. Not just that, we were able act as each other so convincingly that we even fooled other angels and demons that have _also_ known us for thousands of years, just not as well as we know each other.”

Tony continued to stare at his hands in his lap, and whispered something, barely audible.  
“What was that, dearest?”  
Tony looked into his eyes.  
“Thank you” he whispered.

Aziraphale stood, patted him on the shoulder, and left him to get dressed.


	5. Names, clothes, apples, snakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale delves further in trying to spark some recognition in his friend.

Aziraphale prepared some more food, and more coffee for Crowley and was laying it out on the small table by the sofa when the demon padded gently downstairs. “I thought you might be hungry again, so I made some more food just in case.” Tony nodded and sat on the sofa, a little more relaxed this time, but still not sprawling out comfortably like usual. He sipped at the coffee. “Aren’t you going to eat too? Your clothes look too big for you, Az.. Azir….”  
“Aziraphale” the angel supplied, helpfully.  
“Weird name. How come mine’s so normal?”  
Aziraphale paused, mind whirling.  
“You chose it yourself. When I first met you, you were called Crawly, but I know that wasn’t your original name either, it was one that you’d gained in Hell. Then, when… at a sort of pivotal moment in history, you came to join me, it was a difficult time, what was going on at the time. You told me you’d changed it to Crowley. I think you’d been inspired by the beauty of a crow’s wing – your own resemble them. In the right light you can see shimmering blues and greens on your feathers. You said it was less “squirming-at-your-feet-ish”.

He smiled at the memory. Crowley had looked beautiful that day, not that he ever didn’t, but in the flowing black abaya, traditionally considered women’s clothing, Crowley had presented themselves to Aziraphale as femme, and at the same time asked him to use their new name. It was only thousands of years later that the significance of that moment struck new meaning in the angel’s mind.

“In more modern times you added the Anthony J. To fit in better. I adopted the nom de plume of A. Z. Fell for similar purposes, but you still call me Aziraphale, or…” he hesitated and dropped his gaze to his lap, avoiding meeting Tony’s eyes. “… sometimes you call me ‘Angel’” he whispered. He didn’t dare look up to see what Tony’s expression might be. He didn’t think he could bear it, whatever it might be.

“You’re not always Crowley. We can change our appearance, we don’t have genders, unless we wish to make an effort one way or another. I’m happy as I am, but you more often are rather more fluid in your presentation to the world.” He did glance up at this point. Tony looked speculative. “Well that makes sense of some of my thoughts anyway I suppose” he mused.

Aziraphale took a gulp of tea and tried to put his thoughts in order. He really ought to start at the beginning, but trying to condense 6,000 years of shared history into a shorter format was going to be challenging. He watched Tony take a few bites of the new sandwich. “Tell me, do you retain any memories of bible stories at all?” Tony looked at him warily. “Uh, probably, dunno why though.”  
“Well it will at least help you make more sense of some of this, if you have context. Let’s start here…”

Aziraphale miracled an apple into being, bright red and shining, and placed it on the table between them. Tony stared at it.  
“Ring any bells?”  
He shook his head. But he wasn’t stupid. He considered several things. His eyes, his snake sigil, his wings, the angel’s wings.  
“I don’t remember, but I understand I think. Was I a snake, was I _the_ snake?”  
Aziraphale nodded, smiling. “You still can be, when you want to be – you can change into a snake when you want to. You tend to hiss a little bit more just after you change back again though, and your eyes can get rather more snake-y sometimes, especially when you’re stressed.”  
Tony hadn’t had much access to mirrors since he arrived back in the world, so only had the angel’s word for it.  
“How do I turn into a snake then?”  
Aziraphale shrugged.  
“I’m afraid I don’t know, dearest, you just do. Sometimes you just sort of sigh and relax into it, sometimes if you’re angry or defensive you seem to lunge into it, other times it’s kind of a shrug like putting on a coat, but I don’t know precisely _how_ , I’m sorry.”

The angel sat up a little straighter and gulped more tea. “Well, let’s start at the garden shall we? There’s a lot to tell, and you’ve been through a rough time, so tell me if you start to get tired and we can take a break. You can sleep upstairs if you like. I’ll take the sofa if I feel the need for a nap. I don’t usually partake, but I know you do, and I think after the past few weeks I probably should too. This corporation has been through the wringer as well, I haven’t been caring for it particularly well recently, since I lost you, so it probably needs a little extra care.”

It took several weeks. All told. Each day they’d talk, and eat, and drink, steering away from the alcohol for the time being, endless cups of tea and coffee. They’d walk, Aziraphale would take them to places they’d been together, to parks, museums, theatres, restaurants. They’d walk and talk. He’d taken Tony back to his own flat, where he had gazed around, unrecognising. He’d rested his hand on the back of the throne in front of the desk, contemplating it. He’d started at the sculpture of the demon and angel wrestling, or presumably wrestling, he’d smiled a bit, but admitted that he didn’t remember it.

He looked at the eagle lectern, head on one side, feeling like he should remember something, but couldn’t. Aziraphale stepped up behind him, holding his breath, and contemplated it alongside him. “It’s from the church, when you saved my life from the Nazis. You must have gone back and recovered it from the rubble afterwards. You never told me why.” The demon nodded, slowly. “Interesting.” Then he stalked off. Aziraphale noted that his style of walking was returning, but it was the cautious stalk of a predator, not the easy going saunter of a relaxed Crowley yet.

He got to the plant room and cast his eyes over the dead and dying, unwatered plants. Something stirred then. _Anger_ stirred. Aziraphale felt the demon’s aura changing and stepped back, a little wave of fear settling in the pit of his stomach. He saw Tony tense, his jaw muscles tight and twitching as he glared at the plants.

Suddenly he snapped and screamed. He physically lashed out at the foliage, grabbing a pot and hurling it at the wall with such force that the pot shattered into hundreds of shards. He grabbed pot after pot, tipping them over in his rage, throwing them, ripping at the dead stems, stamping on them, before collapsing, sobbing, in the middle of the room in a pile of soil and dried leaves, face in his hands, broken wails spilling from his lips, breath hitching and rasping.

Aziraphale stepped forwards hesitantly, and placed a gentle hand on the demon’s shoulder. It was shrugged off immediately with a hiss.  
“Don’t touch me.”  
“I’m sorry. What is it? Do you remember something?”  
The demon shook his head in his hands.  
“NO!”  
He sobbed some more.  
“…. I want to but I can’t.”  
Aziraphale sat on the floor against the wall a few feet away, and watched as Tony’s sobs petered out into whimpers and his tears gradually ebbed. He thought of something that might help soothe his hurt.

He stood, and approached the collapsed demon again, extending a hand in front of him. Tony lifted his head and stared at the perfectly manicured hand. Thought a moment, and took it, allowing himself to be helped to his feet. “Sorry.” He whispered. Aziraphale didn’t let go of his hand. “It’s ok. I’ve got you, dearest.”

They left the flat. Once out the door, Aziraphale snapped his fingers in a quick miracle that would leave the plant room swept tidy and the dead plants disposed of. He hailed a taxi and ordered it to the car park where the Bentley had been left.

Tony stood and stared at the car.  
“That’s mine?” Disbelieving.  
Aziraphale nodded.  
“Since new.”  
Tony circled it appreciatively, not daring to touch the paintwork, not quite believing that he’d own such a thing.  
“Where’s the keys?”  
“I don’t know dearest, you must have had them when you were taken, but I suspect you don’t need any. This car loves you, I can feel it. Touch it.”  
Tony looked up at him, then back at the car, and reached out to touch the flawless bodywork.  
A tiny light illuminated inside as the radio turned itself on and Queen’s “Driven by you” began playing. The volume dial turned itself up until the sound was overwhelming from the speakers.  
“I think it’s happy to see you” Aziraphale laughed over the cacophony of noise.  
Tony pulled at the locked door and it immediately opened for him and the volume turned itself down a little. He relaxed into the buttery soft Connolly leather seat, perfectly shaped to his contours after all these years, it felt familiar, it felt like home, he smiled. He didn’t remember it as such, but it felt right. He heard the passenger door open and the angel got in. “Shall we go back to the bookshop dearest?”  
Tony nodded. The engine fired up without any key being involved, and his grin widened. “She sounds beautiful.” Muscle memory kicked in and he reversed out of the spot smoothly, although the drive back to Soho was at a regular, human speed rather than the frenetic demonic driving style that he normally employed.


	6. Don't let go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale takes his demon to trickier areas, equally afraid that he won’t remember, and afraid of what will happen if he does.

Aziraphale took him to the Globe theatre, a rebuilt replica that was remarkably close to the original structure. Tony didn’t recognise it, but when the play commenced, the angel noticed Tony’s lips moving silently along with Hamlet’s speeches, and smiled to himself.

The next stop Aziraphale had been putting off for weeks, as he wasn’t sure how the demon would respond. It was the bandstand. He approached it slowly, mounted the steps and stood uncertainly in the middle, turning to face Tony cautiously, desperately reading for any expression in the demon’s face. If he remembered, what if he remembered the wrong thing, the bad things? He couldn’t bear losing him all over again.

Tony considered the edifice carefully, eyes sweeping over the decorative wrought ironwork, seeking meaning, wondering why he had been brought here. Aziraphale cleared his throat carefully, wringing his hands together with nerves. “You told me something here, dearest. Something important….” Tony looked up at him, tipped his head on one side questioningly. Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably, then looked up to meet the demon’s gaze again.

“We’re on our own side.”  
Tony considered the words carefully.  
“What did I mean?” he asked after a while.  
“We weren’t with heaven or hell any more, we chose our own path – free will, we chose our own side, not theirs. You and me, against heaven and hell, standing with the world, with humanity, against the earth’s destruction. We renounced our origins and chose to be something else… together.” He paused.

“You walked into a burning building to find me, Crowley. You drove your car through a wall of flame, you stopped time itself, you defied the devil, you defied Satan himself because I told you that if you didn’t, I’d never talk to you again. It meant more to you than the end of the world even, it was the only thing that pushed you to break your chains. You pushed me to break my own, then I helped you to break yours.”

Tony was silent. He looked around distractedly, not meeting the angel’s gaze. Staring out at the park, attention flickering to a flock of pigeons, then to a child running past. Aziraphale realised, from centuries of deciphering Crowley’s expressions past whatever shades he was wearing, that the demon was trying to process all this, and quite possibly trying not to cry.  
“Shall we go elsewhere, dearest?”  
Tony nodded.

Aziraphale had planned ahead. He’d booked them a table at the Ritz. His stomach a knot of nerves and butterflies. After his initial ravenous appetite after the angel had first brought him home, and then sleeping a full 24 hours after gorging himself the first day (the angel had let him rest, knowing he was exhausted), the demon’s appetite had returned to its usual frugalness. His metabolism was closely linked to his serpent aspect, so he ate infrequently, and after a particularly large meal tended to rest for a while.

Today, Tony had only a bowl of soup followed by several cups of coffee as he watched the angel eat. Hiding his expression carefully behind his glasses, he gazed, rapt, as Aziraphale consumed his lunch, wondering how the simple act could be so fascinating to him. He observed every morsel as it was conveyed to the angel’s mouth to be so delicately consumed, to be savoured, relished, and fully appreciated. Tony couldn’t tear his gaze away, and it was only when an empty wine glass toppled over on the table that he realised he had been scrunching the tablecloth up in his tightly fisted hand. He released it, flustered. “Sorry… sorry.” He muttered, embarrassed. The angel smiled at him indulgently, setting Tony’s stomach fluttering with nerves.

The waiter brought over a magnum of champagne. Aziraphale thought that enough of an interval had passed now for Crowley to be able to deal with alcohol again without it being a crutch. At least their celestial bodies and synapses worked differently to human ones, so there would never be a true parallel for how the two worked, but he had wanted to keep the demon’s head clear for the huge influx of information at the beginning.

Tony considered the champagne flute thoughtfully. Aziraphale swallowed the last morsel of his dessert and dabbed at his soft pink lips delicately with a napkin before folding it delicately on the table again. He lifted his glass and met Tony’s gaze, fondly. “To the world.” He reached out to chink glasses. Tony put his head on one side for a moment, thinking, then nodded and took a swig. “To the world, I guess” he smiled.

Aziraphale studied him carefully. “Remember anything?” Tony shook his head sadly. He was sick of disappointing this beautiful being who was pouring his heart and soul into trying to help him remember. “I’m sorry” he murmured, despondent. Aziraphale’s hand reached out and softly covered his own, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It’s alright, dearest.”

  
Tony looked up at the angel. “You said I got the name Crawly in hell. Who was I before that?”  
Aziraphale’s face crumpled into discomfort and concern. Tony observed him quietly. The angel took a swallow of champagne. “I’m afraid I don’t know, my dear. I’m truly sorry, I haven’t the faintest inkling. You never said, I don’t even know if _you_ remember, well, remembered. I don’t know if you chose to forget that after you fell, or if it was also purged from your memory as part of falling. I have no idea. It’s not the sort of thing that demons ever want to talk about, least of all you. By all accounts it’s a horrifically painful experience, both physically and mentally, and leaves people scarred. I always wanted to know myself but would never hurt you by asking.”

Tony nodded as if he understood, but honestly he didn’t. He had accepted he was a demon, the eyes and the ability to do and feel certain things left him in no doubt that he was indeed a supernatural entity, he couldn’t argue with that. There was also no doubt that this angel knew him better than he knew himself. Apparently well enough to impersonate him and wear his damned _body_ and fool the entirety of hell, who had known him his entire demonic life.

He looked across at the exquisite angel seated next to him, as he had done a lot over the past few weeks, admiring every line of his face, committing it to memory, pushing himself to create new memories. The startling blue eyes captivated him, those delicate lips, the way he smiled, how the skin around his eyes crinkled most adorably when he did so, that veritable halo of blonde curls gracing his head. Tony ached to run his fingers through it, to feel its softness.

This beautiful creature was being so patient with him, so kind, so gentle, so damned caring. Tony didn’t care _who_ he was himself, but he knew he wasn’t anyone worth caring about, not deserving of this much attention and... and _love_. It hurt to feel this angel wasting his time lavishing love on someone as undeserving as him. Why didn’t he just give up? He stared into the bottom of his champagne flute morosely, mulling it all over, and felt the angel’s hand wrap warmly around his again.

“I can feel what you’re thinking, Crowley. Well not feel, not exactly, but I know you, dearest, I know how you think, you’ve said it enough to me over the years. I know that look. That “I’m unforgivable” look, and you aren’t. I know you struggle to understand why I care about you the way I do, but I’m not going to stop. Even if it takes another thousand years, I’m not giving up on you, dearest.”

Suddenly everything was too much. Too noisy, too bright, too _people-y_. “Can we go home?” Tony asked quietly. “Of course, my dear boy.” Aziraphale nodded to the waiter, settled the bill and rose to leave, Tony still staring down at the table. The angel reached out and tentatively took his hand. The demon accepted it and stood slowly. He didn’t let go once they had stood up. He didn’t let go as they made their way to the exit, nor as they walked down the street. He clung onto the angel’s hand like a drowning man grasping at a piece of driftwood to stay afloat. They got on the bus still linked together, and got off, still joined palm to palm, fingers intertwined. Aziraphale unlocked the shop door one handed, and led Tony inside.

The demon seemed loath to let go even then, so he re-locked the door one handed as he had unlocked it, and pulled the blinds down. The demon’s only movement was to remove his glasses as they entered, and tuck them in his jacket pocket with a sniff. Aziraphale hadn’t turned the lights on in the shop, it was dimly lit only by a few table lamps here and there, and the sulphurous orange glow of the streetlights from outside, plus the occasional movement of light and shadows as a car’s headlights roved past. Aziraphale stood and waited, the demon’s hand still warm in his own, Tony’s head cast down at the floor, silent. Aziraphale was unwilling to break whatever was happening between them, afraid it would break his demon too.

Tony finally spoke. “Why are you so good to me?” it was quiet, a murmur on the edge of hearing. He said it to the floorboards. Aziraphale’s heart felt a stab of sorrow, or empathy, or pain at the loss he saw before him, he didn’t know which.

  
“Because you’re so good to me, Crowley. Over thousands of years, in thousands of ways, you’ve shown me how much I mean to you. You’re selfless, thoughtful, caring. You’ve laid yourself on the line time and time again, risked yourself for me, defied your superiors for me. You’ve protected me, you’ve told me when I’m being an idiot, you’ve stopped me from making a fool of myself, you’ve covered my back. You’ve been the _only_ living being that I’ve been able to talk to my entire life who never judged me, who understood what it’s like to be me, because you’re the only person who has been like me, who would talk to me like that. I don’t care what you think of yourself, you’re wrong. You’re a _good_ person. And I’m not going to stop telling you that until you believe it too. I said that already, but it bears repeating, my dear.”

Tony sniffed, and leaned forward, resting his head in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck where it met his shoulder. He leaned his body against the angel’s, hiding his face against his coat, inhaling the safe, soft scent that remained familiar somehow. Aziraphale, still not letting go of his hand, lifted the other to embrace him gently. Softly, oh so softly, he planted a feather light kiss into the demon’s red hair.  
  
\------------------------------

ART courtesy of Arinich on Instagram: <https://www.instagram.com/p/Bz1XiLtj9OG/> by kind permission.   



	7. Fragile things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A demon realises he doesn’t care if he can remember or not, because that’s not what’s important.

Aziraphale’s hand lay warm across the demon’s shoulders, he stroked him gently, and felt the fragile skinny body trembling, shaking, before he heard a muffled sob into his shoulder, which soon became suffused with dampness from the tears being shed there. The angel began to sway ever so gently, rocking him and soothing his hurt, murmuring wordless gentle sounds into his hair, still stroking his back. Tony sniffed. Tried to talk, his voice muffled by the fabric of the angel’s coat.

“I’m sorry I can’t remember. I’m trying, I just can’t. I want to feel something familiar but nothing’s happening, I’m beginning to think it never will, I’m so sorry.” His voice cracked on the last word and he broke into fresh floods of tears, sobbing hoarsely against Aziraphale’s chest, one hand holding tight to the angel’s, the other reaching up to grasp at his lapel, holding him close, head still buried close to his chest near his shoulder.

“I, I…” he sobbed, and paused. Sniffed, pulled back a little and breathed, tried again.  
“I don’t know if it’s something I’m remembering, or that it’s something new I’m learning, all I know is that I can feel that I know _you_. You’re my memory now, like I’ve outsourced responsibility for whatever things I’ve had before and stored them in you. And I don’t know if I even care if I ever get them back…”

Here Aziraphale paled, his face an expression of pure pain at the thought of Crowley giving up, of losing him all over again, but he carried on.

“… I don’t care because it doesn’t matter. I want, I want…” Tony looked into Aziraphale’s wide blue eyes. “I want to make new memories, with you. You’re all that matters. I don’t care about anything else, You can tell me anything I need to remember, just don’t leave me, let me learn with you, let me make a new person out of this shell, let me be the person you seem to believe I am. Maybe… maybe somewhere along the way I will be.”

Aziraphale sobbed at this point, tears overflowing and spilling down his cheeks. Tony let go of his hand and reached up to cup the angel’s face between his palms, thumbs stroking those tears aside. Aziraphale smiled and his breath caught in a half laugh, half sob, he closed his eyes tight for a moment, hands reaching up to cover those on his face. Then Tony was leaning close, breath warm on his lips. “I want to be Crowley for you. I want to be Crowley for me” Crowley said, and kissed him.

Aziraphale’s heart stuttered, like a jolt of electricity passing through his body at the unexpected contact, he froze, unable to believe it was real. The warm lips soft on his own, more beautiful than he had ever imagined, and gone too soon. Crowley broke contact and lifted his head back, just a tiny bit, a mere centimetre of warm air between their lips. Aziraphale opened his eyes to look at those perfect lips so close to his, then lifted his gaze to meet Crowley’s, losing himself in those golden slitted serpent eyes, so unutterably beautiful. “Crowley…” His voice cracked. “Aziraphale” he replied, softly, golden eyes warm. “I don’t know many things, Angel, but I know that I love you. And I don’t see how Crowley couldn’t have as well, even if he never told you.”

Aziraphale smiled. “But you did. Not in words, never in words, but in everything you did, everything you were, every time you looked at me, I could feel it. It took me millennia to realise. At first I thought what I was feeling was just the normal background level of love in the world, until I realised it was you. No matter where you were, your love reached out for me and wrapped around me, regardless of distance. Bigger than any love I could perceive. All I can hope is that my love is enough for _you_.”

He closed the miniscule gap between their lips again and kissed Crowley back, pouring all of his love into the touch, thick and golden, warm and alive, flowing between their bodies, filling the space between every cell of their beings, sealing the broken cracks of them both. Crowley shuddered with delight at the sensation, and his hands fell from the angel’s face so his arms could crush him close, returning the kiss with a fierce intensity that pushed his own love into a blinding light that overwhelmed the angel until he broke off, gasping for air, hand on his heart, drowning in the sensation.

Crowley’s strong hands were around him, stopping him from falling, concern etched into every line of his face. “Angel, are you alright?” Aziraphale nodded, shaky. “It’s just so much, my darling. I’ve… never felt anything so intense before. Crowley dropped his hands quickly. “I’m sorry, did it hurt?” Aziraphale laughed, giddy with the ridiculousness of the question and the sheer volume of the love surrounding him. Something occurred to him and he laughed louder, pure joy writ large across his face. “What?” Crowley asked, concerned and confused. Aziraphale shook his head, trying to reassure his demon. “Not at all my darling, but it just made me think of that old line “did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” Crowley shrugged. “Don’t know, don’t care.” Aziraphale smiled. He was already starting to sound more like the Crowley he knew, that snark and literal devil-may-care attitude was just peeking through the cracks. He hoped more would follow. He wanted his cynical, sarcastic demon back, so long as he came along with this new demonstrative and loving aspect as well. He met Crowley’s gaze again, reached out and pulled him forwards suddenly with his strong arms into a crushing embrace, and kissed him deep and passionately, one hand running up and through that ruffled red hair, losing himself in the sensation as his demon kissed him back fiercely, hands likewise running all over every inch of the angel that he could reach, moaning softly into the kiss, breaking off to kiss desperately at his neck, rough stubble grazing soft skin. “I love you, Aziraphale, I love you, I love you…”

They stood, they kissed, they wrapped their arms around each other, they clung tightly, and they eventually… eventually paused to gaze into each other’s eyes. Exhaustion etched into both of their expressions. Crowley looked hesitant. “I need sleep, angel. Would you… would you care to join me? … Please? Just hold me, I need it, Please….” The last word a broken whimper, the fear of rejection hovering on the edges of it.

“Of course, my darling, my sweet Crowley. I won’t leave your side, you have my word.” Aziraphale kissed him again, briefly, and softly, took his hand, and led him to the bedroom. They stripped only to their boxers and climbed slowly under the cool sheets together. Aziraphale lay on his back, contemplating the ceiling. Crowley curled up next to him, laid his head on the angel’s warm chest, and ran his hand slowly through the soft blonde curls of hair on the skin there. He breathed in that warm safe scent of angel, closed his eyes, all of him feeling so raw and wrought out from the emotions he’d been experiencing.

Aziraphale’s arm wrapped around him, and reached up to stroke the shock of red hair, he tipped his face to plant a kiss atop the demon’s head gently. “Goodnight my darling.” Exhausted, they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

\-------------------

ART courtesy of Arinich on Instagram, the kiss: <https://www.instagram.com/p/Byv4wg8jvsf/>

Falling asleep: <https://www.instagram.com/p/BzrKkWGD0Kq/>

by kind permission.


	8. Serpents and speed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are other aspects of Crowley, which Crowley has yet to explore.

It wasn’t the dawn that woke Aziraphale, it was Crowley nuzzling into his shoulder, still half asleep, but his expression at last content. His arm draped across the angel’s chest, still holding onto him. Dawn was still an hour or two away, but there was still just enough light to see by. The angel smiled down at him beatifically, a fresh wave of love warming his heart. He felt the wave of affection spreading out and enveloping the slumbering demon at his side. Crowley must have felt it too, some deep down angelic part of him still somehow retained a subconscious ability to feel love like Aziraphale could, as he smiled in his sleep and tightened his hold on the angel.

Aziraphale couldn’t resist it and ever so gently planted a soft kiss on Crowley’s head. The demon murmured happily in his sleep and nuzzled closer. Aziraphale felt as if he might burst and tried to slow his over exuberant heartbeat.

Unable to get back to sleep, instead he silently watched the love of his life, as sunlight slowly suffused the sky, and then the room, watching the shadows flee, delineating every graceful line on the beautiful face half pressed against his body. His eyes traced the arch of an eyebrow, took in the twitching eyelid, wondering what dreams might be going on in there, the soft dark lashes, the aquiline nose, thin but still beautiful lips, the lower one slightly more pouted than the top, the strong angular chin, the sharp line of his jaw, and resisted running his hand over the curve of his Adam’s apple on that elegant long throat.

A pale, bare shoulder, the faint shadows of each rib, moving gently with each breath, the graceful curve of his spine down to perfect buttocks under the black silk boxers. The demon must have become too hot during the night and cast off the sheet, something Aziraphale was grateful for, to give him the opportunity to appreciate the beauty of his body.

He was jolted out of his reverie by Crowley’s voice, sounding slightly amused. “Enjoying the view, Angel?” Aziraphale’s eyes flicked back up from where they had been contemplating the demon’s derriére, to meet the now awake, and smiling eyes. Aziraphale blushed deeply. “It’s ok” Crowley reassured him, and reached up to kiss his angel. Aziraphale cupped Crowley’s face with one hand, stroking down gently, his fingers brushing down the snake sigil on his cheek.

Crowley shivered and pulled back, puzzlement on his features. “What did you do?” Aziraphale met his confusion with his own. “I just stroked your face…” “Do it again.” The angel repeated the movement, and as his fingers trailed over the serpent sigil, Crowley shivered again, his own hand reaching up to touch it. “That felt… weird.”

He sat up and traced the lines of the snake on his cheek with one finger, then stood and stalked to the dresser, bending down to inspect his face in the mirror there. He stroked the sigil again. “I can feel something strange. When I touch the head, I feel something on my own head, then working along the body, when I touch below the head I feel it in my neck, then the midssection I feel in my sspine, the tail tickless in my feet…”

Aziraphale sat on the edge of the bed, observing intently. “Crowley….” The demon glanced at him in the mirror. “The skin on the back of your neck and spine shimmered just then, it looked faintly scaled for a second.” Crowley considered for a moment. He closed his eyes and traced his finger over the sigil again, this time flexing as he had to deploy his wings. His skin shimmered into scales briefly over his back, but then his wings corporated anyway, and nothing else.

“That was close, for a moment, I think” Aziraphale said encouragingly. The demon sighed and folded his wings away back onto the ethereal plane. “It feels so clossse.” “It must be” Aziraphale replied softly. “Listen to your voice, Crowley.” He nodded. “Yeah, I hear it. My eyess too.” He turned to look at his angel, his eyes now golden from side to side with no visible sclera. His expression pitched between frustration and excitement. Aziraphale tried to imagine how he might help. “Perhaps try a visualisation technique, I don’t know, think snakey thoughts maybe.” He chuckled. Crowley shrugged. “Can’t hurt.”

He stepped back to the bed and lay face down, eyes closed, finger on his cheek, stroking the serpent there. Aziraphale knelt on the floor, elbows on the bed next to Crowley, watching him. “Think of sinuous things, coiling, slithering, twining along tree branches, think of your spine twisting and flexing like that.” He watched as Crowley twitched, and experimentally stretched, his movements naturally serpentine at the best of times, but now he was actively trying, trying to find the link, find the muscle memory that would allow the shift, working in the dark. He felt Aziraphale’s finger touch his neck then slowly trace a meandering trail down his spine. It helped somehow. He concentrated, and traced the sigil again slowly, trying to flex the same mental muscles as those that released his wings, but instead trying to push his body rather than pull the wings into this domain. He couldn’t put words to it, but feeling the angel’s finger pause on his spine, he suspected that something was happening.

His teeth suddenly felt too sharp in his mouth. His tongue flickered between his lips.

Then like a switch being flipped, he had the odd mental image of the serpent on his cheek swallowing him whole and in some way flipping him inside out. His eyes were no longer closed, that was no longer an option, he no longer had eyelids. He looked around slowly. His tongue unable to remain still, flickering, tasting the air, a multitude of sensations bombarded him, scents and flavours abounded, overwhelming, his hearing somewhat muffled but he could feel vibrations, and when he moved his head to look at Aziraphale, he could somehow sense the warmth of the angel as well, but not in a way he would be able to put into words. He wasn’t entirely snake, he retained a certain amount of humanoid and demon attributes as well, but speech wasn’t one of them. He stared at the angel, mute.

Aziraphale gazed at the serpent, rapt. He was 15 feet of coiling black scales with red underbelly. The black scales shimmered in the light with a faint rainbow gleam. He couldn’t resist reaching out his hand once again to stroke the sinuous muscular shape of Crowley’s new form appreciatively. “Oh dearest, you are so beautiful.” He whispered reverently. Crowley uncoiled and slithered off the bed, stretching out and getting a feel for his new body. He stretched up and over furniture and down again, twisting, flexing and taking in the unfamiliar sensations with interest. He finally slithered over to Aziraphale and coiled gently up and around him, feeling his scales against smooth skin, then via the angel’s body, which was still kneeling by the bed, he brought his coils back onto the cool sheets again, and began flexing experimentally, trying to feel the way back.

Aziraphale was momentarily worried watching Crowley writhing before him, clearly struggling to find the right way to change back again. What if he didn’t manage it, what if he was stuck as a serpent forever? He bit his lip in apprehension, willing Crowley to succeed. Then it occurred to him. A small miracle for luck, that whatever the recipient needed would find its way to them. Crowley suddenly found the feeling he had been looking for, and jerked suddenly back into his human corporation with a shudder. But now he knew the feeling, it would be easier, become smoother with repetition.

He flipped onto his back and lay on the bed, catching his breath and processing it all.  
“Wow.”  
Aziraphale chuckled.  
“You had me worried there for a moment, dearest.”  
“You and me both, Angel. I got it now though.”  
Aziraphale stood and stretched.  
“Coffee?”  
“Pleassse.”

After a little while the angel reappeared in his dressing gown, carrying a tray with a cup of hot black coffee, a cup of earl grey tea, and a couple of croissants. Crowley sat up in bed and accepted the coffee gratefully, declining the croissant. “I’ve got a lot to learn.” Aziraphale nodded over his tea. “I think we should start with something enjoyable to get you off on the right foot. I have an idea.”

A little while later and Aziraphale was relaxing in the Bentley alongside Crowley. It was still a strange thing to be doing, as “relaxing” was not a descriptor he usually associated with trips in the hellish conveyance, but whilst Crowley had been re-learning various aspects of his old self, thankfully driving like a maniac wasn’t yet one of them, and not one that Aziraphale was keen to remind him of.

“So where are we headed, Angel?”  
“It’s a surprise. Just stay on this road until we reach junction 16, its several miles yet.”  
Crowley nodded and enjoyed the drive. After a while gaining confidence he began to push the engine a little more, finding out what it could do. Aziraphale shot him a sidelong glance, trying not to smile despite himself. He wasn’t breaking any speed limits yet, but he could see the mischievousness returning there, just creeping out, curious to see how fast this old car could go. He was going to be rather surprised when he really found out, the angel thought to himself. The car was capable of speeds not attainable by any regular vehicle, powered in part by demonic influence. Crowley hadn’t yet noticed that he didn’t need to put petrol in it. Perhaps some part of the demon subconsciously remembered that it wasn’t a necessity for him, and it simply hadn’t occurred to him that filling petrol was something that should be done.

Despite his apprehension over Crowley regaining his demonic driving skills along with other aspects, Aziraphale realised that he wouldn’t truly mind, if it meant that his Crowley was returning to what he once was. He sighed. Maybe the sensation of what his synapses and superhuman reactions were capable of might be another key to try in the lock of Crowley’s mind. Perhaps he should remind him after all. The road was straight, dry and clear. There was very little other traffic about, and being a motorway, no pedestrians. Outside of a race track this was probably the safest place he could think of for Crowley to relearn the limits of his capabilities. He’d much rather the demon practised here than back on the crowded streets of London.

“It can go faster, you know” he commented, glancing sideways at Crowley.  
“You think? It’s pretty old.”  
“Trust me on this one. I never thought I would utter these words, but feel free to put your foot down a little more. I’m used to it.”  
Crowley shrugged, and pressed the pedal a little closer to the plush merino wool carpet.

The Bentley responded like a scalded cat and leapt forward. The power planted a huge virtual hand into the chest of each occupant and pressed them firmly back into their seats with the G-force of the acceleration as the car surged ahead. Aziraphale tensed and held onto the door nervously, whilst a grin slowly suffused Crowley’s face.  
“Oh yesssss…”  
Aziraphale whimpered slightly.  
“How can it _do_ this?” Crowley was grinning like a Cheshire cat.  
“ _You’re_ doing it, dearest. The car couldn’t do this with any other driver, it’s your demonic power that can push it beyond the mechanical limits, and hold it together against that kind of force. Not to mention, any regular human couldn’t react as quickly as you can to handle it at this speed. I doubt any angel could either, your reactions are literally as quick as a snakebite, and that probably has quite a bit to do with it.”  
Crowley was enjoying himself thoroughly.  
“Are you remembering?”  
He shook his head.  
“Still no, I’m afraid, but I’m _learning_ , and its fun.”

“Best ease off now, dearest, the exit is coming up. Maybe keep that speed for the motorway for now?” Crowley nodded and eased back to a slightly less manic pace. Aziraphale felt conflicted. On one hand happy that Crowley had immediately complied, on the other, slightly sad because old Crowley wouldn’t have bothered, he’d have carried on and joked about it. Maybe that would come with confidence later.

Twenty minutes later they had parked up in a gravel car park near the sea. Crowley stepped out of the car and sniffed the air. Aziraphale closed his door and looked over at him, letting out a short laugh.  
“What?”  
“You were smelling with your tongue a bit there again”  
“Was I? I didn’t notice, sorry.”  
“Don’t apologise, it’s endearing.”  
Crowley shot him a look that could only be described as sarcastic.  
“Pretty sure I’m not the kind of dude that likes my weird habits to be described as ‘endearing’, Angel.”  
Aziraphale smiled and sighed.  
“You are perfectly correct in that assumption, I’ve been making the most of being allowed to say all manner of nice things to you recently without you objecting like you used to. But it’s sort of nice that you’re beginning to behave a little more like you did.”

Crowley watched some seagulls circling above them.  
“So why are we here?”  
“Follow me.”  
Aziraphale began walking toward the scenic viewpoint overlooking the cliffs over the sea. Crowley followed him, taking in the view, the brisk sea breeze ruffling his hair. Aziraphale paused and looked around. Taking in the view with a thoroughness that was peculiar. Not just the sea, but all around them as well. He concentrated a little, closed his eyes and appeared to be thinking. He then snapped his fingers, and opened his eyes.  
“No one about, and there won’t be for a little while. We have the place to ourselves for a bit.”  
Crowley raised an eyebrow at him.  
“What did you have in mind, Angel?”

Aziraphale smiled at him, a devious grin full of mischief. He walked toward the cliff edge, his coat flapping up around him in the updraft of wind rising off the waves below. He turned around, winked at Crowley, and stepped backwards off the cliff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn’t resist giving you a LITERAL CLIFFHANGER 😂


	9. Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things you never forget. And can be used to make new memories that you’ll never forget.

“ANGEL!” Crowley screamed, reaching forwards in alarm, then stepping back in shock as Aziraphale appeared before him again, wings wide, lifting easily on the updraft of air with only the occasional flick of his wingtips. He smiled wide and extended his hands toward Crowley. “Come join me, dearest.” Crowley exhaled sharply in relief, then shook his own wings out, and with a certain amount of trepidation, looked over the edge. His wings automatically spread a little wider and his primaries flexed out, feeling the wind, recognising it by muscle memory alone. His wings arched out, wrist joint forward, feeling the flow of wind over and under, and angling appropriately to feel the uplift balancing the forces and creating lift. His feet felt light on the ground.  
  
With a laugh, he stepped forward, and allowed the wind to take him.

He dropped slightly, and angled into a spiral to feel for a thermal with an instinct that was obviously hotwired into his ancient angelic brain, unaffected by anything as superficial as regular memories. The ability to fly was part of his corporation itself. Feeling the air flow over his feathers was like taking a cool draught of water, like drinking the air, he laughed and laughed with the sheer joy of it. He found a stronger thermal and spun upwards in a widening gyre.

He glanced up to where the angel soared above him, watching down over him tenderly. Forsaking the slowness of thermal riding, he flexed and pushed against the air in a couple of strong wingbeats to accelerate upwards, shooting past the angel with a whoop of joy before levelling out above him, then folding his wings and dropping like a stone toward the sea, wingtips trailing vortices of air, flexing and flicking just the tiniest amount to control his direction. Opening a wing wide at this speed would be a good way to strain a wing or at least lose several feathers. The trick to controlling a steep falcon-like dive was keeping his wings close to his body, and using his wingtips alone to make microscopic movements to twist and manoeuvre.

As he neared the waves below, he flexed his wings gingerly, easing them out and slowing the descent, transforming into a shallow swoop, levelling out, finally opening his wings out wider and skimming in a glide only a foot above the waves, feeling water splash up onto his face, icy cold and refreshing. He flexed his wrist joint upward and moved the angle back into a climb again, then resumed the powerful wingbeats that brought him back up to re-join the angel high above.

The pair of them shared a thermal, circling a few feet from each other, laughing, easily riding the air without need to flap. Aziraphale’s face aching from smiling so hard watching the exhilaration of the demon experiencing his own flight skills anew. Crowley had always been the better of the two of them at aerobatics. Aziraphale struggled with precision and formation flying, that he’d been drilled in back in the old days in Heaven as part of his military training. He flew in a more relaxed, easy-going way for preference. Crowley on the other hand, had always taken a delight in his powers of flight and had mastered complex and difficult manoeuvres that would leave others plummeting in an explosion of lost feathers if they’d tried it.

He had an innate grace and feel for the wind. Rather than just relying on angelic instincts, he had studied the flight of different species of birds. Wing shape had a lot to do with flight style and capabilities. He’d learned early on that his long wide wings weren’t optimally shaped to perform the high speed manoeuvres of a kestrel or hawk. He’d pulled muscles, lost feathers and even dislocated a joint learning that the first few times he’d tried the long high speed plummeting dive, unable to pull out of the stoop without pinwheeling into a chaos of pain and bruises. Even practising over the ocean, hitting the water at that speed could feel like hitting concrete.

But he’d practised over and over again, and learned how to replicate the short wing style by tucking his own tight to his body and using only the tips of his primaries to subtly control direction. The first time he successfully pulled out of a high speed stoop into level flight, skimming over the waves without incident, he’d whooped in delight. He’d tried to teach Aziraphale but the angel didn’t have the nerve to face the terrifying descent at such speeds, and had contented himself with watching the demon play instead.

It seemed that all those years of mastering every aspect of flight was something that the memory wipe hadn’t affected at all. Aziraphale was filled with joy watching Crowley soaring just as elegantly as he always had. His heart ached at the sheer beauty of watching those glossy black wings soar, feathers fluttering, shimmering and shining with deep iridescent blues and greens against the black. His own white wings had a pale pearlescent sheen to the edges, but he always thought Crowley’s to be the more beautiful of the two of them. Crowley of course had always thought the opposite.

Crowley looked up, looked back at Aziraphale, grinned, and flapped hard in strong powerful wingbeats, climbing and gaining height rapidly, striving to see how high he could go. Aziraphale followed suit. He may not have finesse, but he had strength, and soon caught up with Crowley. “Don’t think you’ll reach a height where you can’t go further, dearest, we’ll end up in space. Physics doesn’t apply to us up there. Once we get to where the air is thin, your power takes over instead, you’ll stop needing to breathe, and aerodynamics ceases to be an issue, you’ll just keep climbing.” Crowley looked vaguely disappointed. He’d been keen to find a limit and push it, but when there wasn’t a limit to actually push there didn’t seem much point, so instead he levelled out and took in the sight below him, the vast expanse of ocean to the south, and the rolling green hills of Southeast England to the North, the coastline, patchwork of fields, woodland, roads like grey ribbons. They were thousands of feet up.

He glanced across at Aziraphale in alarm. “Wait, can people see us up here?” Aziraphale shook his head reassuringly. “I’ve ensured we aren’t visible for now, just a minor miracle. We’re safe.” Crowley breathed a sigh of relief. “Race you to the bottom, Angel?” he winked. “No, please, dearest. You used to try to get me to do that hawk stoop before, but I’m no good at it, I’d just sprain a wing if I tried.” Crowley nodded. He floated a little closer until the vortices rolling off his wings befouled the air near the angel’s wings and made him falter slightly. “Crowley!” he yelped in alarm, before strong hands grasped his forearms, steadying him.

Crowley pulled him close and kissed his cheek. “I’ve got you, Angel” he whispered in his ear, wingbeats strong, supporting them both easily. Aziraphale gazed at him in wonder, and gripped Crowley’s forearms in return, locking them together, wingbeats synchronising so as not to interfere with each other. He’d never flown like this before, they were losing height slowly as they were now upright, and no longer gliding able to take advantage of the thermals for lift, relying on wingbeats alone.

Crowley pulled him closer, and wrapped his arms around him. “Relax, Angel, I’ve got you. Trust me…” Aziraphale allowed his wings to tuck in closer to his body while Crowley’s supported them both. Crowley’s eyes met Aziraphale’s azure blue ones, he smiled and pulled the angel into a fierce kiss. Aziraphale relaxed into the contact, and succumbed completely to the demon’s embrace, trusting him. Crowley sighed into the embrace, folded his wings, and pitched them forward into a freefall as they kissed, hurtling back toward the earth, weightless.

Aziraphale should have felt scared as they passed terminal velocity, but wrapped tight in Crowley’s arms, their lips pressed hard together, he no longer felt capable of feeling fear, he was utterly consumed by the love wrapped around him, and trusted Crowley implicitly. His eyes were closed, he couldn’t see how fast they were approaching the ocean below, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want to know, all he needed to know was that Crowley wouldn’t let anything hurt him, and he knew that with every beat of his heart.

He felt the G-forces shift as Crowley’s skilled wings flexed and smoothly pushed them out into a glide. Crowley above him, holding him close, legs wrapped around his now as well, supporting the angel’s whole body. He broke off the kiss and smiled down at Aziraphale, who suddenly felt the sensation of one of his own wingtips dragging through the water, and felt the splash of waves on his back in alarm. Crowley had brought them out into a high speed soar close over the sea. He flexed his wings tighter to his body, not wanting the water to bog down his wings and upset the flight.

After a moment, Crowley twitched his wings into a climb, gained a few feet, and then began flapping in earnest to bring them back to a safe height for the angel to unfold his own wings again and fly on his own, before releasing him slowly into the welcome embrace of a strong thermal. Aziraphale gasped, finding it hard to take his eyes off the demon, now elegantly twisting around in the air, spinning, dropping in little barrel rolls for the sheer joy of it, doing loop the loops around the angel happily. Crowley noticed a tiny island, not much more than a grassy rock just off the coast below them, and nodded down to it, raising an eyebrow questioningly at Aziraphale, who nodded in agreement, and they descended to land lightly on the springy turf.

Crowley sat back on the soft grass and stretched his wings before shaking them out with a shudder, and folding them neatly against his back. Aziraphale landed a little more awkwardly, regained his balance, flapped once or twice, shook his wings as well, then followed suit and folded them up, but not away, taking a seat on the grass next to Crowley, who was grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Well that was fun” Crowley was breathing hard and exhilarated. He sat with knees up, arms resting on them easily, hands dangling, gazing at Aziraphale happily. “I wish you’d shown me this first, Angel.” Aziraphale shrugged in apology. “We rarely get the chance to do this. There are so few places left where we can fly unseen. It’s more for special occasions, as it takes a miracle to ensure no humans can spot us. In the early days it wasn’t much of a problem, but honestly I can’t really remember the last time I flew. I’ve had my wings out, but not to fly with, just to groom them behind closed doors. I missed it.”

He stretched a white wing forward and began running his hands along it, smoothing the feathers in turn distractedly, an automatic preening habit after flight, gazing out over the ocean as his hands worked each feather back into place. Crowley watched him with interest, then pulled his own wings forward around his body to inspect them, lowered one, and held the other in his hands, running his fingers along the vanes of each feather in turn, smoothing the barbs together. His shoulders immediately dropped and relaxed at the sensation. It felt good.

After a few moments, both watching Aziraphale and tending to his own, he realised the downside of having bird appendages on a human body was that they weren’t optimally adapted to be able to reach the feathers behind their own shoulder blades, so once you got so far, it became a struggle to get the remaining section of wing in order. He stopped trying to reach his own and watched Aziraphale struggling with his.

“So how do you get the last bit?”  
Aziraphale grunted.  
“With…. difficulty….” He gasped..  
Crowley laughed at the angel stretching around and trying to reach behind himself, comically awkward.  
“Come here, Angel.”  
Aziraphale looked up at him questioningly. Crowley reached out toward him, beckoning with both hands.  
“Scoot over.”  
Aziraphale understood and shuffled backwards until he was sitting in front of Crowley with his back to him. It should have gone against every instinct of an angel, to turn your back on a demon and of all things, to expose your most fragile wings to one, but this felt nothing but right.  
Then Crowley’s gentle fingers sank through his feathers near his scapulae, combing his feathers straight, and a contented sigh escaped the angel’s lips. He hung his head and breathed deep of the salt scented sea air.

Aziraphale lifted his head to gaze at the seagulls as Crowley continued to groom his wings. He huffed a short laugh and smiled. “Which one do you think is Jonathan today, Crowley?”  
Crowley paused, confused. “Huh?”  
Aziraphale’s smile faded sadly. Of course he didn’t remember that either.  
“It’s a joke we’ve had since about the 1970s. I nicknamed you Jonathan Livingston Seagull for a bit whenever you flew or had your wings out, which admittedly wasn’t often, but it made you laugh. You don’t read much but I lent you that book and you loved it. I asked if you’d met Bach, and you asked which one. Turned out you’d only met the composer, not the author. I suspected you’d influenced the book after your flying antics but you were adamant you’d nothing to do with it. Anyhow, after that whenever you saw seagulls you’d point out whichever you thought was flying the best and tell me ‘That’s Jonathan’.”

Crowley smiled. “Do you still have the book?” The angel nodded. “Of course, you can read it again when we get home if you like. In fact I have a newer version that was only released a few years ago with an extra chapter that you might appreciate more.” He felt Crowley’s hands give a final smoothing stroke of his feathers and sighed, stretching them wide to soak up the sun. “Shall I do yours, dearest?” Crowley grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.” He shuffled around and Aziraphale followed suit then paused. “We should probably actually do this back by the car, as we’ve got to fly back there anyway.” Crowley nodded. “Yeah, sorry, didn’t think of that, never mind, just means I get to check yours over again when we get back there. What a terrible hardship eh?” The angel smiled. “Awful, truly awful. Two wing groomings in one day, how on earth will I cope?”

They flew back across the narrow strait of sea slowly, but it still only took a couple of minutes before they landed on the soft grass overlooking the empty car park where the Bentley shone in the afternoon sun. They sat down again and Crowley re-smoothed a couple of ruffled feathers on Aziraphale’s wings before he folded them away fully out of sight, then turned to address the demon’s glossy black plumage. He’d never touched them before, in fact Crowley had never touched Aziraphale’s before, wings were an intensely personal thing to any angel or demon and to be allowed to touch them was an act of trusting intimacy rarely carried out. He reached out trembling fingers and hesitated.

Crowley glanced back over his shoulder and smiled at the angel frozen there, gazing at his wings. He reached out one wingtip to stroke Aziraphale’s cheek gently. “You can touch me, you know…” Aziraphale let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding and smiled back, reaching forward and running his fingers through Crowley’s feathers reverently. Crowley looked forward again and shivered with delight at the sensation. “Do we do this often?” Aziraphale shook his head. “No. This is the first time.” Crowley raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Then how do you usually get your scapulars tidy?” Aziraphale tugged a loose feather out, Crowley winced briefly. “Sorry dearest, but that one was already half out.” He handed it to Crowley, who ran it through his fingers thoughtfully.

Aziraphale continued. “Long handled brush, some long handled pinching tools to pull loose feathers, and sometimes just a small miracle to set things straight when all else fails. This is easier, and nicer.” Crowley nodded, running his feather over his lips then twirling it in his elegant fingers. “I’m happy to give you a good going over any time you like, Angel.” He looked back over his shoulder again and winked. Aziraphale blushed to his toes and concentrated on the black plumage in his hands, avoiding Crowley’s gaze. Crowley grinned and looked forward again. “Found Jonathan” he remarked, idly, following the flight of a seagull over the cliffs. Aziraphale smiled fondly. “I bet he isn’t half as graceful as you are, dear.”

When Aziraphale had finished, Crowley stood and stretched sinuously, yawning and then extending his wings out to their furthest reach, shook them, and folded them back onto the ethereal plane again. He turned to Aziraphale, kissed the black feather in his fingers, and handed it to him. “Thank you.” Aziraphale accepted the feather wordlessly, and lifted it to his own lips. He breathed in its scent, then kissed it gently. He tucked the feather into his coat pocket carefully. “Thank _you_ dearest.” Crowley stepped forward and rested his arms atop the angel’s shoulders, then touched their foreheads together. “I love you, Angel.” “And I you, Crowley.” Crowley pushed his chin forwards and kissed him, then ran a quick hand through his blonde curls, and sauntered off toward the Bentley.

He sauntered.

Properly.

Aziraphale beamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This art by Alice Rovai goes beautifully with this chapter, please give her a follow.
> 
> [ https://www.instagram.com/p/B09L3ABh0n3/?igshid=17oy99y1pvxzd](https://www.instagram.com/p/B09L3ABh0n3/?igshid=17oy99y1pvxzd)


	10. On Our Own Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale guides Crowley through his demonic existence.

Crowley lounged comfortably on the sofa in the bookshop as Aziraphale returned from the kitchen with more tea, coffee, and a spot of dinner for himself. Crowley had yet again declined the food, but accepted the coffee while he watched the angel eat at his desk. Like his snake aspect, Crowley didn’t need to eat often, and tended to sleep for a while after a heavy meal.

“Thank you for today, Angel” he murmured appreciatively. Aziraphale nodded at him, chewing, swallowed and smiled. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself so much. I only wish I had thought of it sooner, dearest. It was such a delight watching you fly again. I haven’t seen you fly for years. You are always so elegant and beautiful, I couldn’t ever hope to emulate such skill.” Crowley growled good naturedly in mock protest. “Careful, Angel…” but he couldn’t conceal the hint of a smile that tweaked at the corners of his lips despite himself. Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice and tried to conceal his own answering smile behind his next mouthful.

Crowley sipped more coffee, thoughtful. “So why am I such a shit demon? Sounds like I didn’t do a particularly good job of things, all things considered.” Aziraphale considered the question. He cast his eye over the demon, finally also lounging correctly, or incorrectly – correctly for Crowley, anyway, on the sofa instead of perching nervously on the edge of the seat.

“You were an angel once, you said you didn’t so much fall as saunter vaguely downwards. I can’t even pretend to know what you meant by that. You said you hung around with the wrong people, that you asked questions. I don’t think you were ever fully committed to being a demon in all honesty. You love humanity too much to want to harm them. You rather like people, which is a major failing in a demon. You never did anything that could cause too much trouble. I suspect it wasn’t entirely subconscious that you often thwarted your own plans, more often than I thwarted them for you. You’d accidentally mess up temptations sometimes, the worse ones. The less humane tasks you were handed. Then you would take credit for some of the awful things that humans thought up for themselves. Someone wrote it once: ‘Hell is empty, all the devils are here.’”

He sipped some tea thoughtfully. “Humans could think up some truly terrible things, you told me. Because they’d already done it, and there’s nothing you could do to change that, it made no difference for you to claim it as your work, and take the credit, to keep the heat off your own back for all the things that you didn’t do. If you appeared to succeed at the big things, they’d forget the little things that you ‘accidentally’ messed up. It was a way to remain plausible, to make it look like you were toeing the party line, being a good demon, a bad demon, whatever, doing what they wanted.”

Crowley gulped more coffee, considering. Aziraphale had told him already about some of his less well considered plans, like the M25, taking down the London mobile phone network, or Manchester. He’d snorted with amusement when Aziraphale told him he’d also been responsible for Glasgow, but that both of them had claimed credit for Milton Keynes, despite neither of them actually being responsible.

Aziraphale finished his dinner, then his tea, shifted in his seat, and continued. “You’re definitely good at deception, you managed to deceive the whole of hell for thousands of years into thinking you were a successful demon, when really you had me beat for empathy, for caring for humanity. When Noah was building the ark, you couldn’t believe it was something that ‘my lot’ would do, that it was more the sort of thing that ‘your lot’ would do. You couldn’t believe that the almighty would kill kids. You couldn’t stand for that. I saw what you did. I helped make sure that no one else did. You saved as many as you could, flew some to safety, hid some on the ark and swore me to secrecy. You did that when even I didn’t have the guts to. I didn’t dare defy the Great Plan. I didn’t dare disobey, you didn’t care. You’d already done the worst you could do, there was nothing more to fear, you’d already fallen, what else could the Almighty do to you? Make you fall again? You held up a metaphorical finger to Her and dared her to try you, dared her to say anything about it to you.”

“Sometimes I wondered if you deliberately pushed back to _try_ to get her to respond to you, to get her attention, to force her to talk to you again. Either way you wouldn’t lose – you either saved a little more of humanity, or spoiled Her plans, or you might get a response at last to all those questions, any way, you’d win.”  
  
Crowley shifted position. “And did She?”  
“Did She what?”  
“Ever talk to me again?”  
The angel shook his head sadly.  
“No. I’m certain you would have told me if she did. You’d have gloated probably, that you’d got a rise out of Her, or at least been proud, humbled, or _something_ , any reaction you’d have had to it if she had, I know you’d have told me immediately. But either way, you still won. And I watched you, every time you won, and realised that it made you so much of a better person than I was. You put doubt into my mind, and I feared I’d fall because of it, then realised that I didn’t really care if I did, if it meant that I’d have the freedom to be more like you. I admired you, Crowley, I still do. I realised that if falling meant that I’d become what you were, that it held little fear for me, because you were so much more angelic than anyone in heaven. You _cared_. You made me want to care more too.”

“Then I understood – why you probably fell, why you ‘sauntered vaguely downwards’ – you weren’t pushed, I think you _chose_ to fall, of your own free will, because it was the only way to gain freedom from heaven to act as you chose. And that’s also why you were never like the other demons – you were different – you chose it, because you chose freedom, even at the cost of your grace. The freedom to rebel, and to be able to love humanity on your own terms, to nurture them, protect them. Something that you could get hell to turn a blind eye to where heaven never would. You saw how they treated me, how I feared them, how they controlled me, how they controlled my very thoughts, kept me in fear, to keep me in line.”

“So I envied you, looked up to you, wanted to be like you, doubted, had a crisis of faith, wondered if you making me doubt was part of your demonic duties, to pull me down with you, to make me fall, to trick me. Sometimes I withdrew from you, distrusted you, thought that maybe some of the things you made me feel were on purpose, with intent to hurt me. God knows I was an idiot, to ever think your intentions were ever anything but an honest expression of how you felt, never anything more sinister, but I’d been gaslit by heaven for so long that I couldn’t trust my own judgement. I was caught between the lies I’d been told, and the truth you tried to tell me over and over. It took you averting Armageddon to realise that you were exactly what you appeared to be, at least to me – you are a saviour of mankind, still a being of love, wrapped up in a demon’s body, using your demonic powers for good, sometimes on purpose, sometimes subconsciously. You inspired me to forsake heaven, to join you.”

Crowley whispered. “On our own side”  
“Yes.”

“And when I realised I didn’t care if I fell or not, I stood by you, we defied Satan together. And I didn’t fall – and I realised that the Ineffable Plan was not necessarily the same as the Great Plan, and that perhaps the Ineffable Plan had included us all along – that She allowed you to fall, or nudged you to make yourself fall, because she knew that you deserved the freedom from heaven to be who you needed to be, to save the world, to go and find answers to your questions, and that she didn’t want to let me fall, because… well, honestly I don’t know why, but for whatever reason, I haven’t. Maybe I amuse her. We each became a little more like each other over the millennia, and met somewhere in the middle – on our own side.”

Crowley considered it all. “You only tell me about the good things, Angel. You’re skipping all the bad things I’ve done, you have to tell me about them too, I need some kind of balance to understand who I am, was, whatever. Nobody is perfect.”  
Aziraphale shrugged. “You’re perfect to me. I haven’t told you about the bad things because I can’t think of any. Not truly. You always wrap your so-called evil in a safety jacket of kindness somehow, you always provide a get-out clause, a loophole. Even when you turned everyone’s paintball guns into real guns at the old convent, you didn’t make anyone shoot each other, you allowed them free will to make that choice themselves, and even then you ensured that any that actually _did_ get shot had miraculous escapes. You didn’t have blood on your hands, you even refused to kill the Antichrist. I mean you tried to get me to do it, but that’s because you knew that I probably could, and you knew, absolutely, that you couldn’t, even to save the whole world, you still couldn’t bring yourself to do it. If you ever did do something truly evil, which I honestly don’t think you did, then you kept it very well hidden from me. I never found out about anything like that.”

“Sometimes something evil would happen, and I’d foolishly leap to the wrong conclusion that it was something to do with you, but it never was you. It was just humans being human. I feel awful now, dearest, that I ever doubted you, that I ever accused you of such terrible things. I’m the awful one here. I pushed you away when you needed me the most. At the bandstand more things were said than just “on our own side”. I said some truly horrible things to you, to try to save you, to get you to leave me and have plausible deniability to hell, to try to keep you safe, and I hurt you, I hurt you so much, it broke my heart, but I did it with the best of intentions, but it still hurt you. I’m so sorry, love.”

Aziraphale dropped his gaze to his lap, and wiped his eyes. Crowley stood and crossed the short distance between them, dropped to his knees before the angel, placed a comforting hand on his thigh, and looked up into that pained face, reaching up with his other hand to stroke Aziraphale’s cheek. “Then don’t tell me again. If you wanted to take those words back, as if they never happened, we can do that now – I don’t know what you said, and I don’t need to, if it hurts you this much to think of them, take comfort in the fact that they don’t hurt me now. I’ve never heard them, I don’t know what they are and I never need to – you’ve got your wish, those words never happened in my universe.”

Aziraphale smiled at him thankfully. “You are so kind to me, dearest.” He reached out to stroke Crowley’s flame red hair, relishing it’s softness under his hand. Crowley closed his eyes and relaxed into the touch. He laid his head on the angel’s lap, and wrapped his hands around Aziraphale’s waist, hugging him gently, feeling his breaths, feeling his heartbeat. “I like being a shit demon.”

They retired to bed. As before, Crowley wound his body around the angel’s like a snake, feeding off his warmth, breathing in his soothing scent, snuggling close, feeling safe, feeling protected, Aziraphale’s hand wound through his hair as he drifted off.

\----------------

ART courtesy of Arinich on Instagram, Falling asleep: <https://www.instagram.com/p/BzrKkWGD0Kq/>  
by kind permission.


	11. Miracles and temptations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley re-learns some of his other powers, and skills...
> 
> *fear not, there is no actual sex in this chapter, just some teasing leading up to things. Explanation at the end notes.

Crowley woke to the smell of coffee. Aziraphale was sat up in bed next to him, reading the paper and sipping his tea. He didn’t know how long the coffee had been sitting there on the table next to the bed, but he suspected that Aziraphale had simply manifested a simple miracle to maintain it at perfect temperature until the demon woke up. He stretched languorously and yawned, his jaw opening slightly too wide until he remembered himself, and un-dislocated it with a little click of his mandible. He hadn’t realised that serpentine aspect was another possibility when still in human form.

He sat up and Aziraphale passed the steaming cup of coffee over to him with a smile. He accepted it carefully, then reached over to plant a peck on Aziraphale’s cheek. “Morning, Angel.” He gulped the steaming brew gratefully, feeling the warmth suffusing his body. “I’ve been thinking something, Angel. Last night.” Aziraphale put the paper aside and looked at him questioningly.

“I don’t know if I want to remember you know. There was obviously a lot that happened to me, that held me back from being able to tell you how I feel before. And there are clearly hurtful things that I’m probably better off not remembering, if I was so miserable before. I’m free from them now. You’re free from having told me whatever it was you regretted at the bandstand, I’m free from anything else. I’m happy being _this_ Crowley, a new Crowley, for you. Is that a bad thing?”

Aziraphale pondered for a few minutes, conflicted. “I’m not sure. On one hand, you’re more relaxed than you ever were before, you’re more at peace, but I feel I’m doing you a disservice by not continuing to help you remember for yourself, that you might still only be half the person you were, that I’m denying you your true self. But I can’t be selfish about this, _you_ are the important one here, dearest, what _you_ want is what matters, not what I want.”

Crowley downed more coffee, pensive. “Well I suppose it’s somewhat a moot point anyway, seeing as we don’t know yet how to make me remember, or if I ever will. I suppose I don’t get a choice, if it happens, it happens, if it doesn’t, it doesn’t. I guess I’ll just accept it however it comes. Do you think this really is actual amnesia, or something more supernatural?”

Aziraphale took his hand, closed his eyes and concentrated, feeling again for injuries, but this time trying to specifically feel out any traumatic brain injuries, finding none. There had been bruises from the beating, certainly, but no cerebral haemorrhage or similar that could explain a purely biological or neurological amnesia. “I suspect that this was a supernatural demonic action to forcibly purge your memories in a way that didn’t involve your biological form. I might be wrong of course, but I think they wanted a surety of forgetfulness, not the random ‘beat him round the head till he forgets’ type of thing. And I don’t know if there is any way to undo that kind of action. The beating was probably just for the hell of it, if you’ll excuse the expression.”

Crowley finished his coffee and handed the empty cup to Aziraphale to put back on the table. “You know the healing you did when you first brought me home, can I do that? I haven’t done anything but wings and snake so far, I want to find out what else I can do.” Aziraphale considered. “I don’t know all of the things you can do. I’m not sure if healing is one of them, I’ve never seen you do it, and at least once, you’ve brought me to a human and asked me to heal them for you, which tells me that it’s not something you’re capable of any longer. I’ll show you the things you can do that we share, and work from there. Perhaps once you feel how to perform the ones we can both perform, you can find your way around the others yourself – the ones unique to you that I can’t do.”

Hoping that it would be like when he’d experimentally summoned the demon’s wings for him, by pushing the same sensation his own body felt when deploying his wings through the physical contact, Aziraphale started by taking Crowley’s hand in his. He placed his teacup aside, and thought for a moment.

“Light is a good one to start with that I know you can do too.” He concentrated and snapped his fingers, trying to push the shared sensation through their link so that Crowley could feel it too. A softly glowing white light brightened the bedroom slightly, stemming from no visible source. He snapped again to banish it.

Crowley tried to mimic the sensation, snapped his fingers, but only succeeded in summoning a tiny pinpoint of light just above his snapped fingers, that faded in seconds. He looked disappointed. “It’s a good start, darling” Aziraphale encouraged, smiling. “I’ll do it again, this time, snap at the same time as me, I’ll try to push it through like I did with the wings, rather than just letting you feel what I’m feeling.”

He pushed this time, when he created the light, and Crowley’s snap created a second focal point of light shining from a slightly different angle to Aziraphale’s on the bedroom ceiling, so each item in the room now had three different direction shadows, like items on a floodlit football pitch. The light from the windows casting one shadow, the light from Aziraphale’s miracle casting a second a few degrees in a different direction, and the light from Crowley’s casting a third on the other side.

Aziraphale snapped his light off, leaving only Crowley’s. The demon snapped his off with rather more confidence at undoing the miracle than doing it, but then tried again and summoned it successfully on his own. He grinned, then kissed Aziraphale’s cheek. “What next?” Aziraphale thought a moment. “Well I tend to like to get dressed the traditional manner, I like my tailored clothes, but you sometimes find it difficult to find things that exactly suit the look you want, in the size you want, so sometimes you simply summon your clothing by spinning it from raw firmament – miracling them into being. I have done similar in the past to quickly change my attire when needed.” He thought of the Bastille with a brief flash of guilt.

Aziraphale stood, and Crowley rose to stand next to him, still holding hands. Crowley slid his gaze down the angel’s body appreciatively with a slightly lascivious look, ending with a quick wink at Aziraphale and a quick flick of his tongue over his lips. Aziraphale returned the brief admiring gaze down the demon’s semi clad torso, trying not to blush, made eye contact again not without a certain amount of satisfied mischief hiding somewhere behind his expression, and snapped his fingers.

His favoured last-century clothing materialised on his body from where it had been hung neatly on hangers the night before, not a wrinkle to disturb the fabric. Crowley considered the sensation, and this time tried it without the guidance, snapping his fingers and finding the clothing he had discarded in a pile on the chair the night before suddenly wrapped snug around his lean body. “Well,” he laughed, “that certainly beats spending ten bloody minutes trying to wriggle into those skin-tight jeans.” Aziraphale chuckled back. “You don’t _have_ to continue to wear them if you prefer to choose a different style, dearest. Choose what feels comfortable.” Crowley laughed. “Comfort be damned, Angel, at least I’ve got _style_.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Fashion victim” he taunted, without malice. “You love it really,” Crowley grinned, and reached in to give him a quick kiss. “I’ve seen the way you admire my arse, Angel. You wouldn’t have me any other way.”

He thought a moment. “Hang on, you told me you spent a mortifying few minutes wriggling my corporation back into these trousers after the holy water incident in hell. Why didn’t you just miracle them back on?” Aziraphale shook his head. “They’d have felt the difference between a heavenly miracle and a demonic one, I couldn’t have them detecting that and blowing my cover, so humiliation it was. I swear Beelzebub was trying not to laugh despite themselves.”

“So… what else can I do?” Aziraphale wracked his brain. “You did transform yourself into Nanny Ashtoreth to care for Warlock – I told you about that. We can change our forms as needed, I can do that too, I rarely took advantage of the ability, but I can do it to demonstrate to you if you like.” He held the demon’s hand again and closed his eyes. This one was a little different to a quick snap, it involved his corporation rather than reality around him. It wasn’t quite as instantaneous. Crowley watched, mouth agape, as the angel’s features softened, their chest filled out into a pillowy soft bosom, and the faint bulge in their trousers disappeared altogether. When she spoke, her voice had risen an octave or two and had an even softer edge than previously. Her lashes were long and delicate, her brows thinner, jaw narrower, hands more elegant. “Like that, dearest” she breathed, opening her cerulean blue eyes. Crowley stared, lost for words.

Aziraphale felt flustered, shut her eyes, and quickly changed back again with a shudder. “I feel somewhat awkward like that” he said, his usual self again. Crowley gulped and marshalled his thoughts with difficulty. In either form, Aziraphale was stunningly beautiful to him. He didn’t know what Nanny Ashtoreth had looked like, but he closed his eyes and envisioned what he’d like to look like right now. He copied the sensation he’d felt through Aziraphale’s hand, and breathed deep, then let it out in one long gasp, shuddering into her new form. It was Aziraphale’s turn to let his jaw drop open.

Crowley opened her eyes to see the Angel gazing at her, rapt. Her body was still tall and lean, with small but firm breasts giving her a sinuous set of curves. Her fingers long and elegant, with perfectly manicured long nails, long tumbling curls of red hair falling down her back in perfect waves, small, tight buttocks, beautifully toned thighs and calves. She had managed to change her clothing at the same time, unlike Aziraphale, and wore a floor length black evening gown, slit to the thigh, tall black Louboutin stiletto shoes with scarlet soles. A smattering of fine dark red Swarovski crystals shimmered up from the hem of the dress resembling licking flames reaching up her thighs. At her throat an extravagant gold and ruby necklace pulled the eye down her elegant throat to her cleavage, and ruby teardrop earrings dangled from her perfect earlobes. She was every inch the femme fatale*.

Aziraphale gaped, unable to form a coherent sentence, utterly lost in the vision before him. Crowley laughed, then covered her mouth in surprise at the bubbling sound of her own seductive chuckle. “Oh… oh my dearest…” Aziraphale breathed, flushing a deep pink, he brought his hand to his mouth and his eyes darted around the room, trying desperately not to linger too long on any part of Crowley’s beautiful body. Crowley giggled at his discomfiture. “Do you like me like this, darling?” she whispered seductively, voice dark and husky. Aziraphale stammered for a response in a string of random syllables. Crowley lifted his chin with one perfect finger and gazed into his eyes, then stopped his stammering with her lips, giving him a gentle kiss that immediately soothed him into a satisfied silence, whilst her other hand teased his blonde curls.

Aziraphale returned her gaze as she broke off, arms still around his neck. “Yes.” He continued “… I like you however you are, dearest, you just surprised me somewhat.” Crowley giggled again, then shook her hair out and shivered back into their masculine form. Aziraphale let out a short laugh. “You forgot to change the clothing.” Crowley was still in the floor length Swarovski spangled evening gown and Louboutins. He looked down and laughed. “But I still look _fabulous_ , darling.” Aziraphale nodded in agreement. “You’re not wrong.” Crowley grinned wickedly. “Should I swan around the bookshop like this for the rest of the day then?” Aziraphale shrugged. “If you like, dearest, although I shan’t be held responsible for my actions if you do.” Crowley held himself a little tighter to the angel’s body for a moment, and winked, feeling a certain fullness in the groin region. “I could never taunt you like that, darling, I wouldn’t want you exploding on my account.” Crowley snapped his fingers and resumed his usual masculine attire again.

Aziraphale laughed at him. “In all honesty, darling, this still doesn’t change much, you’re still gorgeous whatever you wear. You could make a bin bag look sexy.” Crowley kissed him again. “Were you always this much of a smooth talker then?” Aziraphale shook his head. “Your newfound joie de vivre has somewhat loosened my tongue, I fear, you always were a wily old serpent though. I think your temptations are finally paying off however.” Crowley smirked. “And what, exactly, am I tempting you to do, Angel?” Aziraphale considered the options. “Well quite possibly to miracle all of your clothes off for a start.” Crowley smiled wickedly, eyeing the angel from under dark brows arched in a challenging look. “So what are you waiting for, Angel?” and winked, tongue sliding across his lips slowly, suggestively.

Aziraphale drew a deep breath. The demon was still holding him close, pressing their bodies against each other, and it occurred to him that his own hardness was not the only thing that could be felt down there. There was an answering firmness in the demon’s tight trousers, and all of a sudden his clothing felt too hot and too tight. Crowley must have felt the sensation through their contact, and smirked, his expression so similar to the old Crowley. “Feeling overdressed yourself, Angel? Perhaps I need a little more practise at this whole snapping business…” He snapped once and Aziraphale’s jacket was suddenly neatly hung up on a hanger again. Another snap and the waistcoat followed suit. A third snap removed shoes and socks. “But somehow it’s not quite as fun as the alternative…” His fingers ran over the angel’s chest, up to his collar, toying with the bowtie there, he pulled Aziraphale into a passionate kiss, whilst dextrous fingers removed the bowtie and cast it aside with a flourish, before tantalisingly teasing at the top shirt button, then slowly, slowly, working their way downward, undoing each one with a regular rhythm, until they reached the bottom, then skimming warm hands up his soft chest, and pushing the shirt roughly off the angel’s shoulders, grasping it in one hand and tossing it aside as well.

Aziraphale, distracted by the kiss, paused for breath, although technically he didn’t really need to, mentally he did. Crowley gazed at his chest appreciatively, drawing a single finger down through the soft blonde curls of his chest hair as he idly remarked. “I seem to recall mention of miracling my clothes away, Angel, and yet curiously, I’m still somehow fully attired, and I’m ahead of the game here…” Aziraphale snapped his fingers and removed all of Crowley’s clothes in one go. “Your move, demon.” Crowley grinned, and slowly lowered himself to the floor, licking his way down Aziraphale’s chest as he went with his curiously skilled tongue in a meandering trail downwards, until he was on his knees before him, gazing up into his eyes. “Are you sure this is what you want, Angel? I’m yours to command.”

Aziraphale met the seductive golden eyes steadily. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life, darling. Do with me as you will.” Crowley chuckled, his voice low and rough. “So which of us is in charge here? Or are you commanding me to do with you as I wish? Leading from the bottom as it were?” Aziraphale shrugged. “Whatever feels good to you, my darling. You have far more experience in such matters than I do, I defer to your greater knowledge.” Crowley paused, his fingers toying with the fastening of the angel’s trousers. He looked up again. “I’m glad you think so, but you forget, I forgot. I’m running on instinct here, so I suppose we’ll learn together shall we?” Aziraphale stroked his red hair fondly. “Yes, lets.”

Crowley peeled off the angel’s trousers with a happy sigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Femme Crowley's general look is inspired by Gingerhaole's NSFW art here: [ https://archiveofourown.org/works/20531924/chapters/48732878](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20531924/chapters/48732878)
> 
> There is no smut in this fic. The next chapter will be a "choose your own adventure" page where you can either click to read the (mostly sweet and still loving) erotica chapter of what happens next, or if that isn't your cup of tea, you can click to simply pick up the story afterwards, without sullying this story with anything unsavoury. This way this fic stays SFW, and yet the ineffable husbands still get to appreciate each other fully as an optional extra chapter.


	12. Intermission – choose your own adventure for a chapter.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you don't like erotica, you can skip it and return to the story unsullied.

As I’ve done before when I didn’t want to sully a story with jarring smut, I’ve decided to add a brief “choose your own adventure” style option here. If you don’t want to read erotica any worse than the teasing in the previous chapter, you can click here:  
[ https://archiveofourown.org/works/21771634/chapters/52048594 ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21771634/chapters/52048594)  
To skip straight past the naughty stuff.

Alternatively you can click here:  
[ https://archiveofourown.org/works/21811135 ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21811135)  
To have a sexy interval with the ineffable husbands. It is a standalone chapter in a separate work, with a link at the end to bring you back to the smut-free story here as it continues.


	13. Seeing Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lunch and discovery of more of Crowley’s aspects.

Aziraphale shifted on the bed, not realising that he’d dozed off himself, and felt a strange tugging at his back as he rolled half on his side, before remembering that his wings were out. He rolled back to his front for a moment, stretched them wide, then flinched as he felt something clatter from the dresser onto the floor. He should be more careful flexing his wingspan in an enclosed space. He guiltily folded them away and disappeared them. Crowley had awoken with a start at the sound of whatever it had been that Aziraphale had knocked with his wing falling on the floor.

“Wha? Oh. What time is it, Angel?” Aziraphale snapped his fingers to summon his fob watch from the pocket on his waistcoat across the room, flipped it open and inspected it. “Nearly midday, dearest.” Crowley nodded, and something occurred to him. “Need a watch.” Aziraphale recalled the rather expensive Devon watch that Crowley had worn before, worth the down payment on a decent sized house at least. “I’m afraid your favourite watch must have been lost along with whatever else you had on you when you were abducted.” No doubt some other demon was strutting around flaunting the timepiece like a trophy now, he thought bitterly.

Aziraphale paused, thinking. He knew Crowley had more watches in his collection back at the Mayfair flat, but their only visit there thus far in his recovery had been the most fraught experience and left the demon sobbing on the floor after having utterly destroyed his plant room in a fit of rage.

“How would you feel about making another visit to your flat, dearest?” he asked softly, stroking Crowley’s chest gently as he did, reassuring him with his eyes. “You have quite a collection of watches and no doubt you could select another to wear.” Crowley shrugged. “Sure, why not.” He hauled himself upright, stood, winked at Aziraphale and snapped his fingers to clothe himself. “Your lesson paid off, Angel, I’m good at this now. Better miracle-proof your own clothes if you don’t want me sneaking them off you whenever the fancy takes me.” He was rewarded by a blush from the angel, who awkwardly clambered to his feet and began to dress himself in a more traditional fashion, although he did have to cast about to locate his shirt which hadn’t been hung up tidily with a miracle, but tossed aside during activities earlier. He smiled as he picked it up and donned the garment, suspecting that he’d never be able to think of anything else whenever he wore this shirt in future.

As Crowley sauntered down the street, he reached out to take Aziraphale’s unresisting arm in his own, and shortly afterwards, steered the angel into a small bistro. “Flat can wait, you haven’t had any lunch yet, Angel, and I can’t go letting you get hungry, especially after all your exercise this morning.” The waiter seated them near the window, and as usual Crowley declined any food in favour of strong black coffee, while he watched Aziraphale tuck into a dish of delicately flavoured, handmade pasta with a tomato and balsamic reduction sauce sprinkled with fresh basil leaves, crostini with proscuttio, fresh buffalo mozzarella and olives on the side.

Crowley watched him, intent, and briefly licked his own lips, which didn’t go unnoticed by Aziraphale, who smiled knowingly at him. “May I ask something, Crowley?” He nodded with a half shrug. “Whatever you want, Angel.” Aziraphale nibbled an olive thoughtfully, and swallowed, noting the demon’s intent gaze behind his dark glasses that never _completely_ obscured his expression.

“Well it’s two questions, I suppose. Firstly, were you aware that what you’re doing now, is something that you’ve always done? Secondly, why? Not that I mind, not in the slightest, I’ve always found it endearing, and slightly thrilling if I’m honest, but it has always perplexed me.”

Crowley looked lost. “What _am_ I doing now?” His eyes darted around in confusion. Aziraphale chuckled. “You are always so intent on observing me when I eat, darling. You may not think you’re obvious, but you really are.” At this point the waiter came and refilled the water glasses. He was a handsome young dark haired lad in his early twenties. He whispered conspiratorially “He’s right you know” and winked at Crowley, who gaped back at his retreating back in shock. “We’ve been here often, Crowley” Aziraphale reminded him. “That young man is often our waiter here, and if it hasn’t escaped even his notice, there isn’t a chance it’s escaped mine.”

Crowley blushed furiously. He wasn’t even completely aware that he was doing it, he simply couldn’t tear his eyes away from the spectacle of his angel enjoying food _so_ much. He fumbled for a reply as Aziraphale licked his fork teasingly at him. God damn the devious angel. He was doing it on purpose. “That!” he spat indignantly. “What’s ‘that’, dearest?” Aziraphale asked, innocently. “THAT, that!” Crowley spluttered, waving at the angel in general. “You, the fork, the, the… the food, the licking, the goddamned _moaning_ …” Aziraphale couldn’t keep up the pretence of innocence any longer and broke into a fit of giggles. Crowley glared at him. “You already KNEW.” Aziraphale wiped his eyes, regaining his breath. “Yes, dearest, I simply wanted to hear your explanation, from your own lips, I’ve never dared raise the subject before, I’ve just enjoyed the attention up until now.”

Crowley glared out of the window, embarrassed, until he felt Aziraphale’s hand reach over and squeeze his own affectionately. “You know, dearest, it’s good to see you like this, every day you become more like you were, your reaction, your expressions, they’re all Crowley. Your way of sitting, your way of, well, I wouldn’t call it _walking_ , but your manner of proceeding as if hip joints were just an optional extra. You’re creeping back in so many different ways, it’s beautiful.” Crowley couldn’t maintain the disgruntled expression any longer and a tiny smile cracked the corner of his lips despite himself. He glanced across at his angel, who held an olive on a fork in his direction. “No olive branch to extend, dearest, but how about at least an olive?” Crowley sighed and allowed Aziraphale to feed him the morsel.

A little later, as Aziraphale finished his main course, Crowley caught the waiter’s attention, nodded toward the dessert trolley and flicked his head. “A small sample of everything on the trolley for my Angel” Aziraphale beamed. Crowley had evidently decided to embrace his kink, or whatever this was, shamelessly, and spoil his angel for the sheer hell of it. The waiter dutifully carried over a platter with tiny morsels of each cake and pastry as a tasting experience, smiled at them both (the skinny guy always tipped him well), and retreated. Aziraphale tucked into the first forkful with relish, putting on a show for his demon, eyes twinkling with delight and mischief as he watched Crowley grin behind his hand and squirm in his seat, finally almost able to forgo his poker face.

After lunch they carried on the short walk back to Crowley’s flat. Crowley hesitated in the doorway and removed his shades, eyes flicking nervously toward the plant room, but didn’t see any trace of the carnage he’d wrought on his last visit. Aziraphale had miracled the place clean, so all the shattered plant pots, drifts of soil, broken stems and shredded leaves were gone. There were also no living plants left save for a small, hardy, spiky cactus in the corner. Aziraphale noted it as well and nodded at it. “Perhaps it’s like spiky old you, resisting whatever hardships are thrown at you and coming through the same as ever.” Crowley stared at it a moment, then shrugged. “Maybe.” He conceded. “It’ll need a bit of water anyway though. Not often, but it’s probably overdue a bit of attention.” Aziraphale raised his eyebrows in silent agreement. “You certainly were, dearest” he muttered under his breath, as Crowley stalked through to the kitchen to fetch a watering can.

Cacti dealt with, and nudged into a sunnier spot in the centre of the room, Crowley led the way to the bedroom and began opening doors and drawers in the sleek fitted wardrobe slotted into one stark grey wall. One drawer slid out to reveal a sealed baize green top with fingerprint scanner at the front. It looked fairly likely. He placed his thumb on it, and something clicked quietly. It slid further open and the lid lifted slowly. Within, tucked around a series of small velvet cushions, were a variety of expensive timepieces, some older than others, going right back to a fob watch similar to Aziraphale’s. He considered them all carefully.

After a moment he withdrew two, a Rolex Yacht Master 42 in white gold on a black strap, and a Patek Phillippe 6102P Celestial, Moon age with a smattering of stars and galaxies across the face in a platinum case and black strap. Neither was as ostentatious as his Devon watch had been, but still stylish. He showed them both to Aziraphale for consideration. Without hesitation Aziraphale selected the Celestial one with a warm smile. Crowley looked at him questioningly. “That was a rather quick decision, Angel, is the other one that hideous? Am I missing something here?”

Aziraphale bit his lip and realised that Crowley didn’t know that aspect yet, one little facet of his existence that he had hinted to Aziraphale about long ago, but not mentioned much since. “The stars” he said at last, as Crowley returned the Rolex to the case, and buckled on the Patek Phillippe, while looking questioningly at the angel. Aziraphale sighed, and walked over to the bed. He waved a hand at the blinds which obediently closed. He lay back on the bed and snapped his fingers at the ceiling. Suddenly there were a million pinpoints of light illuminating the surface like their own private planetarium. Crowley tilted his head back and gazed in wonder. The drawer slid shut and locked itself behind him.

He paced over to the bed, and lowered himself down next to the angel, still not taking his eyes from the ceiling. “Do you recognise any, dearest?” Aziraphale asked softly. He nodded, dumbly, and began to point. “Orion of course, the plough, Saggitarius, Cassiopea….” Aziraphale stopped him. “Not quite what I meant, darling, do you _recognise_ any of them?” Crowley looked at him blankly. “I don’t understand.” Aziraphale’s face fell. Crowley was alarmed, not wanting to see his angel sad. He reached across and kissed his cheek. “Please don’t cry, Angel. What’s wrong?” Aziraphale swallowed. “It’s alright, dearest. I shouldn’t expect you to remember this. It’s one of few things that you did tell me of what you knew, or remembered, or were willing to divulge, whichever of those is correct, from before you… fell.” Crowley raised his eyebrows, surprised and curious.

“You said I never said anything about who I was before the fall. You said you didn’t know if I forgot, was made to forget, or didn’t want to remember, or tell, or something, that it was too painful for demons.” Aziraphale nodded. “That’s right, but there was just one snippet you whispered to me one night, long ago, as we sat in the desert under the stars together. There was a new star in the sky that night, and we were watching a caravan of pretty important people following it to somewhere equally important.” Here one of Crowley’s eyebrows raised a little higher in understanding.

“Anyhow, after they’d disappeared into the distance, you just kept staring at the skies, you were entranced. You were also cold. I lent you my cloak. You sometimes used to slow down a bit when you got cold, but I think you’ve found a way to combat that nowadays. You looked at me, and you smiled, and you nodded up at the skies. “Some of those are mine, you know” you said. And you pointed, I followed your gaze, you started pointing them out. “I made that one” you whispered to me. “And that one, and those two, that galaxy, that nebula, they’re mine.” I didn’t know what to say. You told me their names. Not the names that humans use for them now, not even the names they used for them back then, but their true names, their Enochian names as the angels had spoken them. No one else understands those names but us, and the other supernatural beings nowadays.”

Here Aziraphale slipped back into that ancient angelic tongue, as easily as if he hadn’t last spoken it many thousands of years ago, and began to name each constellation, galaxy, and larger stars. He directed a small floating green light across the ceiling to each one to point them out as he named them. Crowley lay next to him, mouth wide open in amazement, drinking it all in, tears pricking his eyes as the ancient words washed over him, understanding them and not knowing why. His fingers tingled.

And then Aziraphale got to the last part. He hesitated again, but he had to say it, because something told him it was important. Crowley had been so insistent he’d mentioned it more than once, there was something special about it, but one of the times he’d mentioned it had been at the bandstand, and he was wary of that mental territory. “You told me something else that day on the bandstand, Crowley…” Crowley’s hand shot out snakebite fast and gripped his arm. “Don’t” he croaked. He looked sideways into the angel’s eyes. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to say anything again from that day that hurts you, remember? You never told me, I don’t know, I don’t have to know.”

Aziraphale shook his head. It wasn’t something that _I_ said, my love, it was something that _you_ told me, more than once. You told me about Alpha Centauri. You wanted to take me there, to go off together, you said. You made them too. They were very important to you.” “They?” Crowley whispered, frozen solid, his grip like steel on Aziraphale’s arm, something was wrong. “Yes, it’s a binary star system, you told me, two stars spinning around each other for all eternity, never getting closer, never growing apart, dancing together forever you told me….” He stopped in alarm.

Crowley’s eyes were glowing. Not just golden, but glowing from within. His hand still in a death grip on Aziraphale’s arm, so hard it hurt. “Crowley…?” The demon was rigid.  
“Carasel and Saraquael” the words forced from his lips with some effort, voice cracking with emotion. The golden glow from his eyes began to suffuse throughout his entire body. Aziraphale pulled back fearfully. Crowley wasn’t there, his body was, but those eyes were blank. The Angel wailed and flung himself forward to embrace the demon desperately. “Crowley! What are you doing? Crowley! CROWLEY!”


	14. Unfallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale has to reassure his broken demon once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I was going to let you all stew several hours longer for this final chapter, and get shit done today, but demonic influences intervened and completley fucked up my day, so here I am, bruised and panicky, back home, and decided to at least unleash a little bit of light into someone else's life this morning by posting this up for you all earlier than planned. I hope you enjoy it.

The stars on the ceiling vanished as Aziraphale lost concentration on the illusion and clung desperately to the vacant demon, kissing him, stroking his face, running fingers over the snake sigil on his cheek trying to get a response, tears sprung from his eyes and splashed down onto Crowley’s vacant expression until he drew a sudden, shuddering gasping breath, like someone coming to the surface after a deep dive. The glow was gone from his eyes, but they were wide with fear and he clambered backward out of the angel’s embrace in terror as if his touch was painful, scrambling up against the headboard, trying to place distance between them, eyes darting around, scanning the room for threats ceaselessly, utterly panicked. Several millennia of primal fears in his mind had fallen back into place and hit him like a ton of bricks.

“No, _no_! You’ve got to go, leave me, they’ll get you, you’ve got to go, Aziraphale, _please_ , go, you _can’t_ , go, please, _please_ leave me, you _have_ to, _please_!” He was frantic and terrified. He covered his face with his hands, sobbing. “What have I done? What the fuck have I done? No, please, no, no _no_ …” Aziraphale tugged at his wrists. “Crowley! Dearest, what’s wrong? Please, tell me!” The demon hissed and recoiled. “No, I’m so sorry, Angel, I’m so sorry, please you _have_ to go, _PLEASE_!” He was screaming. Aziraphale had never seen Crowley so utterly distraught and hysterical. The demon was completely shattered into pieces.

He sat back on his knees before Crowley, his face firm. “No.”  
Crowley looked at him with desperate eyes in a tear streaked face. “But I’ll make you _fall_. All those things I did to you, I tempted you, I pulled you down with me, I made you defy heaven, I tainted you, oh fuck I, I… I _slept_ with you, oh _fuck_.”

Aziraphale had had enough. He allowed his wings to materialise in a furious blazing light of his full angelic aspect, his feathers burning with bright white phosphorous-like light, almost blinding, his halo: his golden aura, likewise blazing around him, and he yelled at the cowering demon. “DO I **_LOOK_** FUCKING _FALLEN_ TO YOU, CROWLEY? _WELL…_? **_DO I_?**” Crowley clambered back and fell off the bed in an untidy pile on the floor, shaking, petrified and paralysed with fear.

Aziraphale stood and advanced on the terrified demon, wings wide and brighter white than Crowley had ever seen them, and _this_ Crowley _had_ seen them, repeatedly, over thousands of years. He’d seen everything. “Did you not listen to a _single_ word I said, Crowley? I WANTED to be like you, I have no _fucking_ fear of falling, because if I did it would mean I had the freedom to be like the one entity in the entire universe that I adore and aspire to be like, and yet here I am, **_UN-FUCKING-FALLEN_**.”

He raised a hand as if he were about to slap some sense into Crowley, and hesitated. He folded his wings down but not away, fell to his knees, grabbed the unresisting demon’s face in both hands, and pulled him forward into a fierce kiss, forcefully pushing every single ounce of love he could muster into the kiss, into Crowley, until he felt the demon’s body respond in kind. He broke off and held his gaze, unflinching. “I’m not going anywhere Crowley, we’re on our own side, do you hear me? _Our own fucking side_.” He plucked a glowing white feather from his wing, kissed it and pushed it into Crowley’s unresisting hand, then withdrew the black one from his own coat pocket and lifted it up before Crowley’s eyes. “I’m yours, you’re mine, and nothing on earth, in heaven or hell is going to change that, not ever. Do you believe me?”

Crowley whimpered, a tiny, inaudible syllable slipping from his lips. Aziraphale growled. “ ** _DO YOU BELIEVE ME, CROWLEY?_** ” he thundered. Crowley swallowed and tried again. “Yes” he whispered. “Yes.” Aziraphale kissed him again. “Good. Because you can’t get rid of me that easily, darling.” He let him go, and Crowley slumped against the wall, breathing hard. Aziraphale folded his wings away and his light dimmed. He waved a hand at the blinds which opened to allow slices of late afternoon sunlight to flow across the room in horizontal bars. He shifted around and sat on the floor next to the demon, his back against the cool concrete of the wall, tucked the glossy black feather back in his pocket, then rested his hand on Crowley’s knee.

“So, I take it you remember now?” he asked quietly. Crowley nodded, mutely, his eyes wide, still in shock, staring at the shimmering white feather in his fingers. “I think the Enochian started it.” Aziraphale nodded. “I suppose there’ll be a lot to take in, a lot to process, old you and new you to come to terms with.” Crowley nodded weakly. “Get me a drink, Angel?” he whispered pleadingly. Aziraphale sighed, and snapped his fingers to summon a bottle of 60 year old Glenturret single/single and a pair of crystal tumblers, already filled with ice, from Crowley’s kitchen. He poured a single measure in each then banished the bottle again. He handed one to Crowley, and chinked the rims before sipping at his, feeling it burn down his throat. Crowley just stared at his for a few minutes before he finally took a swallow, and tipped his head back against the cool concrete behind him. He placed the white feather in his pocket with trembling fingers.

“I really kissed you, Angel.” Aziraphale nodded with a smile. “Yes.”  
“And I touched you, Angel.” Another nod, another smile.  
“And I slept with you, Angel…” he tipped his head sideways to meet Aziraphale’s eyes as he nodded a third time, his expression warm. “Yes, you made love to me, dearest.”  
“I’d never have dared with those memories still there.”  
“I know.”  
“I’m glad they weren’t.”  
“Me too, dearest.”  
They each took another sip of whisky and stared blankly ahead.

Aziraphale looked at him. “And you know what, Crowley?”  
“What?”  
“The world didn’t end when we did.”  
Crowley shrugged. “I suppose it didn’t.”  
“And as you can see, I most certainly didn’t fall either.”  
Crowley smiled weakly. “I suppose you didn’t, Angel.”  
“So what’s to stop us from repeating the experience?”  
“Nothing, Angel” Crowley shrugged again.  
“Damned right, demon.” Aziraphale chuckled, and nudged him in the ribs playfully.  
Crowley smiled at last, the stresses melting from his shoulders at last, finished his whisky, and rested his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale turned his head to plant a soft kiss on his red hair, and squeezed his knee affectionately. He finished his own drink and set the glass aside carefully.

“So….?” He looked down at Crowley expectantly. Crowley lifted his head to meet his gaze with his drying tear-streaked face questioningly. “Huh?” Aziraphale’s gentle fingers lifted his head further until their lips were a breath apart, his thumb brushing his lower lip softly*. “So how about we repeat the experience?” and he kissed him gently. Crowley sighed into his warm embrace. “Yes.”

In the gentleness that followed, Crowley’s aura glowed as bright gold as the angel’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This beautiful art by the ever wonderful Gingerhaole fits so well with this final scene: [https://archiveofourown.org/works/20531924/chapters/52041520 ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20531924/chapters/52041520) Thank you ever so much for giving me permission to link your beautiful art.
> 
> **NEW!: bonus chapter I wrote for the #GOC2020 Good Omens Celebration challenge prompt "Memory" is a Crowley POV for Lost and Found[ CLICK HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964013/chapters/58097803) to read. **
> 
> Edit - also I've decided that mutual kissed feather exchange is something deep and meaningful in Angelic society, and probably means something akin to declaring one's undying devotion to the other, sealed when the other feather is exchanged. It's not said, but it had that feeling when I did it. I think Crowley proprosed with his at the seaside, and Aziraphale accepted with his at the flat. 
> 
> Thank you everyone for all the kind words, I adored writing this fic, and whilst I'm slightly sad it had to come to an end, I needed to wind it up. Perhaps there might be sequels, I don't know yet, but this was a good place to end this part at least, as due to Christmas chaos I wouldn't have been able to keep to a schedule of writing over the coming weeks, what with trying to co-run a pop-up shop in a busy shopping centre, managing etsy shop, managing IRL clients, visting family abroad for Christmas, gift shopping, and THE BLOODY CASTOR SHEARING OFF MY FUCKING WHEELCHAIR THIS MORNING, I've got a lot on my plate.
> 
> Please excuse me while I go and stress over where I'm going to source a like for like appropriate rental powerchair in 3 days flat that will still fold and fit in the car so I'm not stuck in the house just when I need to be out doing things. I'm currently awaiting rescue and nursing some bruises from being unceremoniously toppled out onto the pavement. Luckily it was 100 yards from my front door so a helpful neighbour came and helped me back home again, and I'm hoping the local wheelchair repair place has a replacement castor attachment piece. All angelic vibes appreciated.
> 
> Another edit - thank you all for the angelic vibes, StarBug* the powerchair is repaired and safely back home, and I'm no longer quite such a huge bundle of nerves. 
> 
> *yes, I'm a huge Red Dwarf fan as well - previous mobility scooters were named Blue Midget and Red Dwarf. My robot vacuum cleaner is Bob the Skutter. StarBug the powerchair is my freedom.


End file.
